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LECTURES 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES 


RALPH   WALDO    EMERSON 


BOSTON  AND   NEW  YORK 
HQTTGHTON,   MIFFLIN    AND   COMPANY 

£fee  EirtiereiDe  Press, 


Copyright,  1883, 
Bl  EDWARD  W.  EMERSON. 

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The  Riverside  Press,  Camiridge,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A. 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  &  Company. 


CONTENTS. 


DEMONOLOGY      

ARISTOCRACY 

PERPETUAL,  FORCES 

CHARACTER 75 

EDUCATION 

THE  SUPERLATIVE 129 

THE  SOVEREIGNTY  OF  ETHICS 

THE  PREACHER        

THE  MAN  OF  LETTERS 

THE  SCHOLAR  

PLUTARCH 22? 

HISTORIC  NOTES  OF  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  IN  NEW  ENG 
LAND          

THE  CHARDON  STREET  CONVENTION    .... 

EZRA  RIPLEY,  D.  D 

MARY  MOODY  EMERSON,        -        -        •  •  •        .307 

SAMUEL  HOAR 

THOREAU 


335 

347 

CAKLYLE 375 


DEMONOLOGY. 


NIOHT-DBEAMS  trace  on  Memory's  wall 
Shadows  of  the  thoughts  of  day, 

And  thy  fortunes  as  they  fall 
The  bias  of  thy  will  betray. 


In  the  chamber,  on  the  stairs. 

Lurking  dumb, 

Go  and  come 
Lemurs  and  Lars. 


DEMONOLOGY.1 


THE  name  Demonology  covers  dreams,  omens,  coin 
cidences,  luck,  sortilege,  magic  and  other  experiences 
which  shun  rather  than  court  inquiry,  and  deserve  no 
tice  chiefly  because  every  man  has  usually  in  a  lifetime 
two  or  three  hints  in  this  kind  which  are  specially  im 
pressive  to  him.  They  also  shed  light  on  our  structure. 

The  witchcraft  of  sleep  divides  with  truth  the  empire 
of  our  lives.  This  soft  enchantress  visits  two  children 
lying  locked  in  each  other's  arms,  and  carries  them 
asunder  by  wide  spaces  of  land  and  sea,  and  wide  inter 
vals  of  time :  — 

"  There  lies  a  sleeping  city,  God  of  dreams  ! 
What  an  unreal  and  fantastic  world 
Is  going  on  below  ! 

Within  the  sweep  of  yon  encircling  wall 
How  many  a  large  creation  of  the  night, 
Wide  wilderness  and  mountain,  rock  and  sea, 
Peopled  with  busy,  transitory  groups. 
Finds  room  to  rise,  and  never  feels  the  crowd." 

'T  is  superfluous  to  think  of  the  dreams  of  multitudes, 
the  astonishment  remains  that  one  should  dream;  that 
we  should  resign  so  quietly  this  deifying  Reason,  and 

1  From  the  course  of  lectures  on  "  Human  Life,"  read  in  Boston, 
183SMO.  Published  in  the  North  American  Review,  1877. 


10  DEMONOLOGY. 

become  the  theatre  of  delirious  shows,  wherein  time, 
space,  persons,  cities,  animals,  should  dance  before  us 
in  merry  and  mad  confusion;  a  delicate  creation  out 
doing  the  prime  and  flower  of  actual  nature,  antic 
comedy  alternating  with  horrid  pictures.  Sometimes 
the  forgotten  companions  of  childhood  reappear:  — 

"They  come,  in  dim  procession  led, 
The  cold,  the  faithless,  and  the  dead, 
As  warm  each  hand,  each  brow  as  gay, 
As  if  they  parted  yesterday  :  "  — 

or  we  seem  busied  for  hours  and  days  in  peregrinations 
over  seas  and  lands,  in  earnest  dialogues,  strenuous  ac 
tions  for  nothings  and  absurdities,  cheated  by  spectral 
jokes  and  waking  suddenly  with  ghastly  laughter,  to  be 
rebuked  by  the  cold,  lonely,  silent  midnight,  and  to  rake 
with  confusion  in  memory  among  the  gibbering  nonsense 
to  find  the  motive  of  this  contemptible  cachinnation. 
Dreams  are  jealous  of  being  remembered  ;  they  dissi 
pate  instantly  and  angrily  if  you  try  to  hold  them. 
When  newly  awaked  from  lively  dreams,  we  are  so 
near  them,  still  agitated  by  them,  still  in  their  sphere,  — 
give  us  one  syllable,  one  feature,  one  hint,  and  we  should 
repossess  the  whole;  hours  of  this  strange  entertainment 
would  come  trooping  back  to  us;  but  we  cannot  get  our 
hand  on  the  first  link  or  fibre,  and  the  whole  is  lost. 
There  is  a  strange  wilfulness  in  the  speed  with  which  it 
disperses  and  baffles  our  grasp. 

A  dislocation  seems  to  be  the  foremost  trait  of  dreams. 
A  painful  imperfection  almost  always  attends  them. 
The  fairest  forms,  the  most  noble  and  excellent  persons, 
arc  deformed  by  some  pitiful  and  insane  circumstance. 
The  very  landscape  and  scenery  in  a  dream  seem  not  to 
fit  us,  but  like  a  coat  or  cloak  of  some  other  person  to 


DEMONOLOGY.  11 

overlap  and  encumber  the  wearer;  so  is  the  ground,  the 
road,  the  house,  in  dreams,  too  long  or  too  short,  and  if 
it  served  no  other  purpose  would  show  us  how  accu 
rately  nature  fits  man  awake. 

There  is  one  memory  of  waking  and  another  of  sleep. 
In  our  dreams  the  same  scenes  and  fancies  are  many 
times  associated,  and  that  too,  it  would  seem,  for  years. 
In  sleep  one  shall  travel  certain  roads  in  stage-coaches 
or  gigs,  which  he  recognizes  as  familiar,  and  has  dreamed 
that  ride  a  dozen  times;  or  shall  walk  alone  in  familiar 
fields  and  meadows,  which  road  or  which  meadow  in 
waking  hours  he  never  looked  upon.  This  feature  of 
dreams  deserves  the  more  attention  from  its  singular  re 
semblance  to  that  obscure  yet  startling  experience  which 
almost  every  person  confesses  in  daylight,  that  particu 
lar  passages  of  conversation  and  action  have  occurred  to 
him  in  the  same  order  before,  whether  dreaming  or 
waking  ;  a  suspicion  that  they  have  been  with  precisely 
these  persons  in  precisely  this  room,  and  heard  precisely 
this  dialogue,  at  some  former  hour,  they  know  not  when. 

Animals  have  been  called  "  the  dreams  of  nature." 
Perhaps  for  a  conception  of  their  consciousness  we  may 
go  to  our  own  dreams.  In  a  dream  we  have  the  in 
stinctive  obedience,  the  same  torpidity  of  the  highest 
power,  the  same  unsurprised  assent  to  the  monstrous  as 
these  metamorphosed  men  exhibit.  Our  thoughts  in  a 
stable  or  in  a  menagerie,  on  the  other  hand,  may  well  re 
mind  us  of  our  dreams.  What  compassion  do  these  im 
prisoning  forms  awaken!  You  may  catch  the  glance  of  a 
dog  sometimes  which  lays  a  kind  of  claim  to  sympathy 
and  brotherhood.  What!  somewhat  of  me  down  there  ? 
Does  he  know  it?  Can  he  too,  as  I,  go  out  of  himself, 
see  himself,  perceive  relations?  We  fear  lest  the  poor 


12  DEMONOLOGY. 

brute  should  gain  one  dreadful  glimpse  of  his  condition, 
should  learn  in  some  moment  the  tough  limitations  of  this 
fettering  organization.  It  was  in  this  glance  that  Ovid 
got  the  hint  of  his  metamorphoses ;  Calidasa  of  his  trans 
migration  of  souls.  For  these  fables  are  our  own  thoughts 
carried  out.  What  keeps  those  wild  tales  in  circulation 
for  thousands  of  years?  What  but  the  wild  fact  to 
which  they  suggest  some  approximation  of  theory?  Nor 
is  the  fact  quite  solitary,  for  in  varieties  of  our  own 
species  where  organization  seems  to  predominate  over 
the  genius  of  man,  in  Kalmuck  or  Malay  or  Flathead 
Indian,  we  are  sometimes  pained  by  the  same  feeling; 
and  sometimes  too  the  sharp-witted  prosperous  white 
man  awakens  it.  In  a  mixed  assembly  we  have  chanced 
to  see  not  only  a  glance  of  Abdiel,  so  grand  and  keen, 
but  also  in  other  faces  the  features  of  the  mink,  of  the 
bull,  of  the  rat,  and  the  barn-door  fowl.  You  think, 
could  the  man  overlook  his  own  condition,  he  could  not 
be  restrained  from  suicide. 

Dreams  have  a  poetic  integrity  and  truth.  This 
limbo  and  dust-hole  of  thought  is  presided  over  by  a 
certain  reason,  too.  Their  extravagance  from  nature  is 
yet  within  a  higher  nature.  They  seem  to  us  to  suggest 
an  abundance  and  fluency  of  thought  not  familiar  to  the 
waking  experience.  They  pique  us  by  independence 
of  us,  yet  we  know  ourselves  in  this  mad  crowd,  and 
owe  to  dreams  a  kind  of  divination  and  wisdom.  My 
dreams  are  not  me  ;  they  are  not  Nature,  or  the  Not- 
me  :  they  are  both.  They  have  a  double  consciousness, 
at  once  sub-  and  ob-jective.  We  call  the  phantoms 
that  rise,  the  creation  of  our  fancy,  but  they  act  like 
mutineers,  and  fire  on  their  commander  ;  showing  that 
every  act,  every  thought,  every  cause,  is  bi-polar,  and 


DEMONOLOGY.  13 

in  the  act  is  contained  the  counteraction.  If  I  strike, 
I  am  struck  ;  if  I  chase,  I  am  pursued. 

Wise  and  sometimes  terrible  hints  shall  in  them  be 
thrown  to  the  man  out  of  a  quite  unknown  intelligence. 
He  shall  be  startled  two  or  three  times  in  his  life  by 
the  justice  as  well  as  the  significance  of  this  phantas 
magoria.  Once  or  twice  the  conscious  fetters  shall 
seem  to  be  unlocked,  and  a  freer  utterance  attained. 
A  prophetic  character  in  all  ages  has  haunted  them. 
They  are  the  maturation  often  of  opinions  not  con 
sciously  carried  out  to  statements,  but  whereof  we  al 
ready  possessed  the  elements.  Thus,  when  awake,  I 
know  the  character  of  Rupert,  but  do  not  think  what 
he  may  do.  In  dreams  I  see  him  engaged  in  certain 
actions  which  seem  preposterous,  —  out  of  all  fitness. 
He  is  hostile,  he  is  cruel,  he  is  frightful,  he  is  a  pol 
troon.  It  turns  out  prophecy  a  year  later.  But  it  was 
already  in  my  mind  as  character,  and  the  sibyl  dreams 
merely  embodied  it  in  fact.  Why  then  should  not 
symptoms,  auguries,  forebodings  be,  and,  as  one  said, 
the  meanings  of  the  spirit  ? 

We  are  let  by  this  experience  into  the  high  region  of 
Cause,  and  acquainted  with  the  identity  of  very  unlike- 
seeming  effects.  We  learn  that  actions  whose  turpi 
tude  is  very  differently  reputed  proceed  from  one  and 
the  same  affection.  Sleep  takes  off  the  costume  of  cir 
cumstance,  arms  us  with  terrible  freedom,  so  that  every 
will  rushes  to  a  deed.  A  skilful  man  reads  his  dreams 
for  his  self-knowledge  ;  yet  not  the  details,  but  the 
quality.  What  part  does  he  play  in  them,  —  a  cheerful, 
manly  part,  or  a  poor  drivelling  part  ?  However  mon 
strous  and  grotesque  their  apparitions,  they  have  a  sub 
stantial  truth.  The  same  remark  may  be  extended  to 


14  DEMONOLOGY. 

the  omens  and  coincidences  which  may  have  astonished 
us.  Of  all  it  is  true  that  the  reason  of  them  is  always 
latent  in  the  individual.  Goethe  said  :  "  These  whim 
sical  pictures,  inasmuch  as  they  originate  from  us,  may 
well  have  an  analogy  with  our  whole  life  and  fate." 

The  soul  contains  in  itself  the  event  that  shall  pres 
ently  befall  it,  for  the  event  is  only  the  actualizing  of 
its  thoughts.  It  is  no  wonder  that  particular  dreams 
and  presentiments  should  fall  out  and  be  prophetic. 
The  fallacy  consists  in  selecting  a  few  insignificant  hints 
when  all  are  inspired  with  the  same  sense.  As  if  one 
should  exhaust  his  astonishment  at  the  economy  of  his 
thumb-nail,  and  overlook  the  central  causal  miracle  of 
his  being  a  man.  Every  man  goes  through  the  world 
attended  with  innumerable  facts  prefiguring  (yes,  dis 
tinctly  announcing)  his  fate,  if  only  eyes  of  sufficient 
heed  and  illumination  were  fastened  on  the  sign.  The 
sign  is  always  there,  if  only  the  eye  were  also  ;  just 
as  under  every  tree  in  the  speckled  sunshine  and  shade 
no  man  notices  that  every  spot  of  light  is  a  perfect  im 
age  of  the  sun,  until  in  some  hour  the  moon  eclipses 
the  luminary  ;  and  then  first  we  notice  that  the  spots  of 
light  have  become  crescents,  or  annular,  and  correspond 
to  the  changed  figure  of  the  sun.  Things  are  signifi 
cant  enough,  Heaven  knows  ;  but  the  seer  of  the  sign, 
—  where  is  he  ?  We  doubt  not  a  man's  fortune  may 
be  read  in  the  lines  of  his  hand,  by  palmistry  ;  in  the 
lines  of  his  face,  by  physiognomy  ;  in  the  outlines  of 
the  skull,  by  craniology  :  the  lines  are  all  thore,  but  the 
reader  waits.  The  long  waves  indicate  to  the  instructed 
mariner  that  there  is  no  near  land  in  the  direction  from 
which  they  come.  Belzoni  describes  the  three  marks 
which  led  him  to  dig  for  a  door  to  the  pyramid  of  Gbi- 


DEMONOLOGY.  15 

zeh.     What  thousands  had  beheld  the  same  spot  for  so 
many  ages,  and  seen  no  three  marks  ! 

Secret  analogies  tie  together  the  remotest  parts  of 
nature,  as  the  atmosphere  of  a  summer  morning  is  filled 
with  innumerable  gossamer  threads  running  in  every 
direction,  revealed  by  the  beams  of  the  rising  sun.  All 
life,  all  creation,  is  tell-tale  and  betraying.  A  man  re 
veals  himself  in  every  glance  and  step  and  movement 
and  rest : — 

"  Head  with  foot  hath  private  amity, 
And  both  with  moons  and  tides." 

Not  a  mathematical  axiom  but  is  a  moral  rule.  The 
jest  and  byword  to  an  intelligent  ear  extends  its  mean 
ing  to  the  soul  and  to  all  time.  Indeed,  all  productions 
of  man  are  so  anthropomorphous  that  not  possibly  can 
he  invent  any  fable  tliat  shall  not  have  a  deep  moral 
and  be  true  in  senses  and  to  an  extent  never  intended 
by  the  inventor.  Thus  all  the  bravest  tales  of  Homer 
and  the  poets,  modern  philosophers  can  explain  with 
profound  judgment  of  law  and  state  and  ethics.  Lu- 
cian  has  an  idle  tale  that  Pancrates,  journeying  from 
Memphis  to  Coppus,  and  wanting  a  servant,  took  a 
door-bar  and  pronounced  over  it  magical  words,  and  it 
stood  up  and  brought  him  water,  and  turned  a  spit,  and 
carried  bundles,  doing  all  the  work  of  a  slave.  What 
is  this  but  a  prophecy  of  the  progress  of  art  ?  For 
Pancrates  write  Watt  or  Fulton,  and  for  "magical 
words  "  write  "  steam  ;  "  and  do  they  not  make  an  iron 
bar  and  half  a  dozen  wheels  do  the  work,  not  of  one, 
but  of  a  thousand  skilful  mechanics  ? 

"  Nature,"  said  Swedenborg,  "  makes  almost  as  much 
demand  on  our  faith  as  miracles  do."  And  I  find  noth 
ing  in  fables  more  astonishing  than  my  experience  in 


16  DEMONOLOGY. 

every  hour.  One  moment  of  a  man's  life  is  a  fact  so 
stupendous  as  to  take  the  lustre  out  of  all  fiction.  The 
lovers  of  marvels,  of  what  we  call  the  occult  and  un 
proved  sciences,  of  mesmerism,  of  astrology,  of  coin 
cidences,  of  intercourse,  by  writing  or  by  rapping  or  by 
painting,  with  departed  spirits,  need  not  reproach  us 
with  incredulity  because  we  are  slow  to  accept  their 
statement.  It  is  not  the  incredibility  of  the  fact,  but 
a  certain  want  of  harmony  between  the  action  and  the 
agents.  We  are  used  to  vaster  wonders  than  these 
that  are  alleged.  In  the  hands  of  poets,  of  devout  and 
simple  minds,  nothing  in  the  line  of  their  character  and 
genius  would  surprise  us.  But  we  should  look  for  the 
style  of  the  great  artist  in  it,  look  for  completeness  and 
harmony.  Nature  never  works  like  a  conjuror,  to  sur 
prise,  rarely  by  shocks,  but  by  infinite  graduations  ;  so 
that  we  live  embosomed  in  sounds  we  do  not  hear, 
scents  we  do  not  smell,  spectacles  we  see  not,  and  by 
innumerable  impressions  so  softly  laid  on  that,  though 
important,  we  do  not  discover  them  until  our  attention 
is  called  to  them. 

For  Spiritism,  it  shows  that  no  man,  almost,  is  fit  to 
give  evidence.  Then  I  say  to  the  amiable  and  sincere 
among  them,  these  matters  are  quite  too  important  than 
that  I  can  rest  them  on  any  legends.  If  I  have  no 
facts,  as  you  allege,  I  can  very  well  wait  for  them.  I 
am  content  and  occupied  with  such  miracles  as  I  know, 
such  as  my  eyes  and  ears  daily  show  me,  such  as  hu 
manity  and  astronomy.  If  any  others  are  important 
to  me  they  will  certainly  be  shown  to  me. 

In  times  most  credulous  of  these  fancies,  the  sense 
was  always  met  and  the  superstition  rebuked  by  the 
grave  spirit  of  reason  and  humanity.  When  Hector  in 
told  that  the  omens  are  unpropitious,  he  replies,  — 


DEMONOLOGY.  17 

"  One  oinen  is  the  best,  to  fight  for  one's  country." 
Euripides  said,  "  He  is  not  the  best  prophet  who  guesses 
well,  and  he  is  not  the  wisest  man  whose  guess  turns 
out  well  in  the  event,  but  he  who,  whatever  the  event 
be,  takes  reason  and  probability  for  his  guide."  "  Swans', 
horses,  dogs  and  dragons,"  says  Plutarch,  "  we  distin 
guish  as  sacred,  and  vehicles  of  the  Divine  foresight, 
and  yet  we  cannot  believe  that  men  are  sacred  and  fa 
vorites  of  Heaven."  The  poor  shipmaster  discovered  a 
sound  theology,  when  in  the  storm  at  sea  he  made  his 
prayer  to  Neptune,  "  O  God,  thou  mayst  save  me  if 
thou  wilt,  and  if  thou  wilt  thou  mayst  destroy  me  ;  but, 
however,  I  will  hold  my  rudder  true."  Let  me  add 
one  more  example  of  the  same  good  sense,  in  a  story 
quoted  out  of  Hecateus  of  Abdera  :  — 

"  As  I  was  once  travelling  by  the  Red  Sea,  there  was 
one  among  the  horsemen  that  attended  us  named  Ma- 
sollam,  a  brave  and  strong  man,  and  according  to  the 
testimony  of  all  the  Greeks  and  barbarians,  a  very  skil 
ful  archer.  Now  while  the  whole  multitude  was  en  the 
way,  an  augur  called  out  to  them  to  stand  still,  and  this 
man  inquired  the  reason  of  their  halting.  The  augur 
showed  him  a  bird,  and  told  him,  '  if  that  bird  remained 
where  he  was,  it  would  be  better  for  them  all  to  remain  ; 
if  he  flew  on,  they  might  proceed  ;  but  if  he  flew  back 
they  must  return.'  The  Jew  said  nothing,  but  bent  his 
bow  and  shot  the  bird  to  the  ground.  This  act  offended 
the  augur  and  some  others,  and  they  began  to  utter  im 
precations  against  the  Jew.  But  he  replied,  'Where 
fore  ?  Why  are  you  so  foolish  as  to  take  care  of  this 
unfortunate  bird  ?  How  could  this  fowl  give  us  any 
wise  directions  respecting  our  journey,  when  he  could 
not  save  his  own  life  ?  Had  he  known  anything  of  fu- 
2 


18  DEMONOLOGY. 

turity,  he  would  not  have  come  here  to  be  killed  by  the 
arrow  of  Masollara  the  Jew.' " 

It  is  not  the  tendency  of  our  times  to  ascribe  impor 
tance  to  whimsical  pictures  of  sleep,  or  to  omens.  But 
the  faith  in  peculiar  and  alien  power  takes  another  form 
in  the  modern  mind,  much  more  resembling  the  ancient 
doctrine  of  the  guardian  genius.  The  belief  that  par 
ticular  individuals  are  attended  by  a  good  fortune  which 
makes  them  desirable  associates  in  any  enterprise  of 
uncertain  success,  exists  not  only  among  those  who  take 
part  in  political  and  military  projects,  but  influences  all 
joint  action  of  commerce  and  affairs,  and  a  correspond 
ing  assurance  in  the  individuals  so  distinguished  meets 
and  justifies  the  expectation  of  others  by  a  boundless 
self-trust.  "  I  have  a  lucky  hand,  sir,"  said  Napoleon 
to  his  hesitating  Chancellor  ;  "  those  on  whom  I  lay  it 
are  fit  for  anything."  This  faith  is  familiar  in  one 
form, — that  often  a  certain  abdication  of  prudence  and 
foresight  is  an  element  of  success  ;  that  children  and 
young  persons  come  off  safe  from  casualties  that  would 
have  proved  dangerous  to  wiser  people.  We  do  not 
think  the  young  will  be  forsaken  ;  but  he  is  fast  ap 
proaching  the  age  when  the  sub-miraculous  external 
protection  and  leading  are  withdrawn  and  he  is  com 
mitted  to  his  own  care.  The  young  man  takes  a  leap 
in  the  dark  and  alights  safe.  As  he  comes  into  man 
hood  he  remembers  passages  and  persons  that  seem,  as 
he  looks  at  them  now,  to  have  been  supernaturally  de 
prived  of  injurious  influence  on  him.  His  eyes  were 
holden  that  he  could  not  see.  But  he  learns  that  such 
risks  he  may  no  longer  run.  He  observes,  with  pain, 
not  that  he  incurs  mishaps  here  and  there,  but  that  his 
genius,  whose  invisible  benevolence  was  tower  and 
shield  to  him,  is  no  longer  present  and  active. 


DEMONOLOGY.  19 

In  the  popular  belief,  ghosts  are  a  selecting  tribe, 
avoiding  millions,  speaking  to  one.  In  our  traditions, 
fairies,  angels  and  saints  show  the  like  favoritism  ;  so 
do  the  agents  and  the  means  of  magic,  as  sorcerers  and 
amulets.  This  faith  in  a  doting  power,  so  easily  sliding 
into  the  current  belief  everywhere,  and,  in  the  particu 
lar  of  lucky  days  and  fortunate  persons,  as  frequent 
in  America  to-day  as  the  faith  in  incantations  and  phil 
ters  was  in  old  Rome,  or  the  wholesome  potency  of  the 
sign  of  the  cross  in  modern  Rome,  —  this  supposed 
power  runs  athwart  the  recognized  agencies,  natural  and 
moral,  which  science  and  religion  explore.  Heeded 
though  it  be  in  many  actions  and  partnership's,  it  is  not 
the  power  to  which  we  build  churches,  or  make  liturgies 
and  prayers,  or  which  we  regard  in  passing  laws,  or  found 
college  professorships  to  expound.  Goethe  has  said  in 
his  Autobiography  what  is  much  to  the  purpose  :  — 

"  I  believed  that  I  discovered  in  nature,  animate  and 
inanimate,  intelligent  and  brute,  somewhat  which  mani 
fested  itself  only  in  contradiction,  and  therefore  could 
not  be  grasped  by  a  conception,  much  less  by  a  word. 
It  was  not  god-like,  since  it  seemed  unreasonable  ;  not 
human,  since  it  had  no  understanding  ;  not  devilish, 
since  it  was  beneficent ;  not  angelic,  since  it  is  often  a 
marplot.  It  resembled  chance,  since  it  showed  no  se 
quel.  It  resembled  Providence,  since  it  pointed  at  con 
nection.  All  which  limits  us  seemed  permeable  to  that. 
It  seemed  to  deal  at  pleasure  with  the  necessary  ele 
ments  of  our  constitution  ;  it  shortened  time  and  ex 
tended  space.  Only  in  the  impossible  it  seemed  to 
delight,  and  the  possible  to  repel  with  contempt.  This, 
which  seemed  to  insert  itself  between  all  other  things, 
to  sever  them,  to  bind  them,  I  named  the  Demoniacal, 


20  DEMONOLOGY". 

after  the  example  of  the  ancients,  and  of  those  who  had 
observed  the  like. 

"Although  every  demoniacal  property  can  manifest 
itself  in  the  corporeal  and  incorporeal,  yes,  in  beasts  too 
in  a  remarkable  manner,  yet  it  stands  specially  in  won 
derful  relations  with  men,  and  forms  in  the  moral  world, 
though  not  an  antagonistic,  yet  a  transverse  element,  so 
that  the  former  may  be  called  the  warp,  the  latter  the 
woof.  For  the  phenomena  which  hence  originate  there 
are  countless  names,  since  all  philosophies  and  religions 
have  attempted  in  prose  or  in  poetry  to  solve  this  riddle, 
and  to  settle  the  thing  once  for  all,  as  indeed  they  may 
be  allowed -to  do. 

"But  this  demonic  element  appears  most  fruitful 
when  it  shows  itself  as  the  determining  characteristic  in 
an  individual.  In  the  course  of  my  life  I  have  been 
able  to  observe  several  such,  some  near,  some  farther 
off.  They  are  not  always  superior  persons,  either  in 
mind  or  in  talent.  They  seldom  recommend  themselves 
through  goodness  of  heart.  But  a  monstrous  force  goes 
out  from  them,  and  they  exert  an  incredible  power  over 
all  creatures,  and  even  over  the  elements  ;  who  shall 
say  how  far  such  an  influence  may  extend  ?  All  united 
moral  powers  avail  nothing  against  them.  In  vain  do 
the  clear-headed  part  of  mankind  discredit  them  as  de 
ceivers  or  deceived,  —  the  mass  is  attracted.  Seldom 
or  never  do  they  meet  their  match  among  their  contem 
poraries  ;  they  are  not  to  be  conquered  save  by  the  uni 
verse  itself,  against  which  they  have  taken  up  arms. 
Out  of  such  experiences  doubtless  arose  the  strange, 
monstrous  proverb,  '  Nobody  against  God  but  God.' " 1 

It  would  be  easy  in  the  political  history  of   every 
1  Goethe,  Wahrheit  und  DicMung,  Book  xx. 


DEMONOLOGY.  21 

time  to  furnish  examples  of  this  irregular  success,  men 
having  a  force  which  without  virtue,  without  shining 
talent,  yet  makes  them  prevailing.  No  equal  appears 
in  the  field  against  them.  A  power  goes  out  from  them 
which  draws  all  men  and  events  to  favor  them.  The 
crimes  they  commit,  the  exposures  which  follow,  and 
which  would  ruin  any  other  man,  are  strangely  over 
looked,  or  do  more  strangely  turn  to  their  account. 

I  set  down  these  things  as  I  find  them,  but  however 
poetic  these  twilights  of  thought,  I  like  daylight,  and  I 
find  somewhat  wilful,  some  play  at  blindman's  -  buff, 
when  men  as  wise  as  Goethe  talk  mysteriously  of  the 
demonological.  The  insinuation  is  that  the  known  eter 
nal  laws  of  morals  and  matter  are  sometimes  corrupted 
or  evaded  by  this  gipsy  principle,  whicli  chooses  favor 
ites  and  works  in  the  dark  for  their  behoof  ;  as  if  the 
laws  of  the  Father  of  the  universe  were  sometimes 
balked  and  eluded  by  a  meddlesome  Aunt  of  the  uni 
verse  for  her  pets.  You  will  observe  that  this  extends 
the  popular  idea  of  success  to  the  very  gods  ;  that  they 
foster  a  success  to  you  which  is  not  a  success  to  all  ; 
that  fortunate  men,  fortunate  youths  exist,  whose  good 
is  not  virtue  or  the  public  good,  but  a  private  good, 
robbed  from  the  rest.  It  is  a  midsummer-madness, 
corrupting  all  who  hold  the  tenet.  The  demonologic  is 
only  a  fine  name  for  egotism  ;  an  exaggeration  namely 
of  the  individual,  whom  it  is  Nature's  settled  purpose 
to  postpone.  "  There  is  one  world  common  to  all  who 
are  awake,  but  each  sleeper  betakes  himself  to  one  of 
his  own."  x  Dreams  retain  the  infirmities  of  our  char 
acter.  The  good  genius  may  be  there  or  not,  our-  evil 
genius  is  sure  to  stay.  The  Ego  partial  makes  the 
1  Heraclitus. 


22  DEMONOLOGY. 

dream  ;  the  Ego  total  the  interpretation.  Life  is  also  a 
dream  on  the  same  terms. 

The  history  of  man  is  a  series  of  conspiracies  to  win 
from  Nature  some  advantage  without  paying  for  it.  It 
is  curious  to  see  what  grand  powers  we  have  a  hint  of 
and  are  mad  to  grasp,  yet  how  slow  Heaven  is  to  trust 
us  with  such  edge-tools.  "  All  that  frees  talent  without 
increasing  self-command  is  noxious."  Thus  the  fabled 
ring  of  Gyges,  making  the  wearer  invisible,  which  is 
represented  in  modern  fable  by  the  telescope  as  used  by 
Schlemil,  is  simply  mischievous.  A  new  or  private  lan 
guage,  used  to  serve  only  low  or  political  purposes  ;  the 
transfusion  of  the  blood  ;  the  steam  battery,  so  fatal  as 
to  put  an  end  to  war  by  the  threat  of  universal  murder  ; 
the  desired  discovery  of  the  guided  balloon,  are  of  this 
kind.  Tramps  are  troublesome  enough  in  the  city  and 
in  the  highways,  but  tramps  flying  through  the  air  and 
descending  on  the  lonely  traveller  or  the  lonely  farmer's 
house  or  the  bank-messenger  in  the  country,  can  well  be 
spared.  Men  are  not  fit  to  be  trusted  with  these  talis 
mans. 

Before  we  acquire  great  power  we  must  acquire  wis 
dom  to  use  it  well.  Animal  magnetism  inspires  the 
prudent  and  moral  with  a  certain  terror  ;  so  the  divina 
tion  of  contingent  events,  and  the  alleged  second-sight 
of  the  pseudo-spiritualists.  There  are  many  things  of 
which  a  wise  man  might  wish  to  be  ignorant,  and  these 
are  such.  Shun  them  as  you  would  the  secrets  of  the 
undertaker  and  the  butcher.  The  best  are  never  de 
moniacal  or  magnetic  ;  leave  this  limbo  to  the  Prince  of 
the  power  of  the  air.  The  lowest  angel  is  better.  It  is 
the  height  of  the  animal  ;  below  the  region  of  the  di 
vine.  Power  as  such  is  not  known  to  the  angels. 


DEMONOLOGY.  23 

Great  men  feel  that  they  are  so  by  sacrificing  their 
selfishness  and  falling  back  on  what  is  humane  ;  in  re 
nouncing  family,  clan,  country,  and  each  exclusive  and 
local  connection,  to  beat  with  the  pulse  and  breathe  with 
the  lungs  of  nations.  A  Highland  chief,  an  Indian  sa 
chem  or  a  feudal  baron  may  fancy  tliat  the  mountains 
and  lakes  were  made  specially  for  him  Donald,  or  him 
Tecumseh  ;  that  the  one  question  for  history  is  the  ped 
igree  of  his  house,  and  future  ages  will  be  busy  with  his 
renown  ;  that  he  has  a  guardian  angel  ;  that  he  is  not  in 
the  roll  of  common  men,  but  obeys  a  high  family  des 
tiny  ;  when  he  acts,  unheard-of  success  evinces  the  pres 
ence  of  rare  agents  ;  what  is  to  befall  him,  omens  and 
coincidences  foreshow  ;  when  he  dies  banshees  will  an 
nounce  his  fate  to  kinsmen  in  foreign  parts.  What 
more  facile  than  to  project  this  exuberant  selfhood 
into  the  region  where  individuality  is  forever  bounded 
by  generic  and  cosmical  laws  ?  The  deepest  flattery, 
and  that  to  which  we  can  never  be  insensible,  is  the  flat 
tery  of  omens. 

We  may  make  great  eyes  if  we  like,  and  say  of  one 
on  whom  the  sun  shines,  "What  luck  presides  over  him!  " 
But  we  know  that  the  law  of  the  Universe  is  one  for 
each  and  for  all.  There  is  as  precise  and  as  describ- 
able  a  reason  for  every  fact  occurring  to  him,  as  for  any 
occurring  to  any  man.  Every  fact  in  which  the  moral 
elements  intermingle  is  not  the  less  under  the  dominion 
of  fatal  law.  Lord  Bacon  uncovers  the  magic  when  he 
says,  "  Manifest  virtues  procure  reputation  ;  occult  ones, 
fortune."  Thus  the  so-called  fortunate  man  is  one  who, 
though  not  gifted  to  speak  when  the  people  listen,  or  to 
act  with  grace  or  with  understanding  to  great  ends,  yet 
is  one  who,  in  actions  of  a  low  or  common  pitch,  relies 


24  DEMONOLOGY. 

on  his  instincts,  and  simply  does  not  act  where  he  should 
not,  but  waits  his  time,  and  without  effort  acts  when 
the  need  is.  If  to  this  you  add  a  fitness  to  the  society 
around  him,  you  have  the  elements  of  fortune  ;  so  that 
in  a  particular  circle  and  knot  of  affairs  he  is  not  so 
much  his  own  man  as  the  hand  of  nature  and  time. 
Just  as  his  eye  and  hand  work  exactly  together,  —  and 
to  hit  the  mark  with  a  stone  he  has  only  to  fasten  his 
eye  firmly  on  the  mark  and  his  arm  will  swing  true,  — 
so  the  main  ambition  and  genius  being  bestowed  in  one 
direction,  the  lesser  spirits  and  involuntary  aids  within 
his  sphere  will  follow.  The  fault  of  most  men  is  that 
they  are  busybodies  ;  do  not  wait  the  simple  movement 
of  the  soul,  but  interfere  and  thwart  the  instructions  of 
their  own  minds. 

Coincidences,  dreams,  animal  magnetism,  omens,  sa 
cred  lots,  have  great  interest  for  some  minds.  They 
run  into  this  twilight  and  say,  "  There  's  more  than  is 
dreamed  of  in  your  philosophy."  Certainly  these  facts 
are  interesting,  and  deserve  to  be  considered.  But  they 
are  entitled  only  to  a  share  of  attention,  and  not  a  large 
share.  NU  magnificum,  nil  generosum  sapit.  Let  their 
value  as  exclusive  subjects  of  attention  be  judged  of  by 
the  infallible  test  of  the  state  of  mind  in  which  much 
notice  of  them  leaves  us.  Read  a  page  of  Cudworth  or 
of  Bacon,  and  we  are  exhilarated  and  armed  to  manly 
duties.  Read  demonology  or  Colquhoun's  Report,  and 
we  are  bewildered  and  perhaps  a  little  besmirched.  We 
grope.  They  who  love  them  say  they  are  to  reveal  to 
us  a  world  of  unknown,  unsuspected  truths.  But  sup 
pose  a  diligent  collection  and  study  of  these  occult  facts 
were  made,  they  are  merely  physiological,  semi-medi 
cal,  related  to  the  machinery  of  man,  opening  to  our  cu. 


DEMONOLOGY.  25 

riosity  how  we  live,  and  no  aid  on  the  superior  problems 
why  we  live,  and  what  we  do.  While  the  dilettanti 
have  been  prying  into  the  humors  and  muscles  of  the 
eye,  simple  men  will  have  helped  themselves  and  the 
world  by  using  their  eyes. 

And  this  is  not  the  least  remarkable  fact  which  the 
adepts  have  developed.  Men  who  had  never  wondered 
at  anything,  who  had  thought  it  the  most  natural  thing 
in  the  world  that  they  should  exist  in  this  orderly  and 
replenished  world,  have  been  unable  to  suppress  their 
amazement  at  the  disclosures  of  the  somnambulist.  The 
peculiarity  of  the  history  of  Animal  Magnetism  is  that 
it  drew  in  as  inquirers  and  students  a  class  of  persons 
never  on  any  other  occasion  known  as  students  and  in 
quirers.  Of  course  the  inquiry  is  pursued  on  low  prin 
ciples.  Animal  magnetism  peeps.  It  becomes  in  such 
hands  a  black  art.  The  uses  of  the  thing,  the  commod 
ity,  the  power,  at  once  come  to  mind  and  direct  the 
course  of  inquiry.  It  seemed  to  open  again  that  door 
which  was  open  to  the  imagination  of  childhood  —  of 
magicians  and  fairies  and  lamps  of  Aladdin,  the  trav 
elling  cloak,  the  shoes  of  swiftness  and  the  sword  of 
sharpness  that  were  to  satisfy  the  uttermost  wish  of  the 
senses  without  danger  or  a  drop  of  sweat.  But  as  Na 
ture  can  never  be  outwitted,  as  in  the  Universe  no  man 
was  ever  known  to  get  a  cent's  worth  without  paying  in 
some  form  or  other  the  cent,  so  this  prodigious  proiniser 
ends  always  and  always  will,  as  sorcery  and  alchemy 
have  done  before,  in  very  small  and  smoky  performance. 

Mesmerism  is  high  life  below  stairs  ;  Momus  playing 
Jove  in  the  kitchens  of  Olympus.  'T  is  a  low  curiosity 
or  lust  of  structure,  and  is  separated  by  celestial  diam 
eters  from  the  love  of  spiritual  truths.  It  is  wholly  a 


26  DEMONOLOGY. 

false  view  to  couple  these  things  in  any  manner  with 
the  religious  nature  and  sentiment,  and  a  most  danger 
ous  superstition  to  raise  them  to  the  lofty  place  of  mo 
tives  and  sanctions.  This  is  to  prefer  halos  and  rain 
bows  to  the  sun  and  moon.  These  adepts  have  mis 
taken  flatulency  for  inspiration.  Were  this  drivel  which 
they  report  as  the  voice  of  spirits  really  such,  we  must 
find  out  a  more  decisive  suicide.  I  say  to  the  table- 
rappers  :  — 

"  I  well  believe 

Thou  wilt  not  utter  what  thou  dost  not  know, 

And  so  far  will  I  trust  thee,  gentle  Kate." 

They  are  ignorant  of  all  that  is  healthy  and  useful  to 
know,  and  by  laws  of  kind ,  —  dunces  seeking  dunces  in 
the  dark  of  what  they  call  the  spiritual  world,  —  pre 
ferring  snores  and  gastric  noises  to  the  voice  of  any 
muse.  I  think  the  rappings  a  new  test,  like  blue  litmus 
or  other  chemical  absorbent,  to  try  catechisms  with.  It 
detects  organic  skepticism  in  the  very  heads  of  the 
Church.  'T  is  a  lawless  world.  We  have  left  the  ge 
ometry,  the  compensation,  and  the  conscience  of  the 
daily  world,  and  come  into  the  realm  or  chaos  of  chance 
and  pretty  or  ugly  confusion  ;  no  guilt  and  no  virtue, 
but  a  droll  bedlam,  where  everybody  believes  only  after 
his  humor,  and  the  actors  and  spectators  have  no  con 
science  or  reflection,  no  police,  no  foot-rule,  no  san 
ity,  —  nothing  but  whim  and  whim  creative. 

Meantime  far  be  from  me  the  impatience  which  can 
not  brook  the  supernatural,  the  vast  ;  far  be  from  me 
the  lust  of  explaining  away  all  which  appeals  to  the  im 
agination,  and  the  great  presentiments  which  haunt 
us.  Willingly  I  too  say,  Hail !  to  the  unknown  awful 
powers  which  transcend  the  ken  of  the  understanding. 


DEMONOLOGY.  27 

And  the  attraction  which  this  topic  has  had  for  me  and 
which  induces  me  to  unfold  its  parts  before  you  is  pre 
cisely  because  I  think  the  numberless  forms  in  which 
this  superstition  has  re  appeared  in  every  time  and  every 
people  indicates  the  inextinguishableness  of  wonder  in 
man ;  betrays  his  conviction  that  behind  all  your  ex 
planations  is  a  vast  and  potent  and  living  Nature,  inex 
haustible  and  sublime,  which  you  cannot  explain.  He 
is  sure  no  book,  no  man  has  told  him  all.  He  is  sure 
the  great  Instinct,  the  circumambient  soul  which  flows 
into  him  as  into  all,  and  is  his  life,  has  not  been 
searched.  He  is  sure  that  intimate  relations  subsist  be 
tween  his  character  and  his  fortunes,  between  him  and 
his  world  :  and  until  he  can  adequately  tell  them,  he 
will  tell  them  wildly  and  fabulously.  Demonology  is 
the  shadow  of  Theology. 

The  whole  world  is  an  omen  and  a  sign.  Why  look 
so  wistfully  in  a  corner  ?  Man  is  the  Image  of  God. 
Why  run  after  a  ghost  or  a  dream  ?  The  voice  of  di 
vination  resounds  everywhere  and  runs  to  waste  un 
heard,  unregarded,  as  the  mountains  echo  with  the 
Heatings  of  cattle. 


ARISTOCRACY. 


Bur  if  thou  do  thy  best, 

Without  remission,  without  rest, 

And  invite  the  sunbeam, 

And  abhor  to  feign  or  seem 

Even  to  those  who  thee  should  love 

And  thy  behavior  approve  ; 

If  thou  go  in  thine  own  likeness,  — 

Be  it  health  or  be  it  sickness,  — 

If  thou  go  as  thy  father's  son, 

If  thou  wear  no  mask  or  lie, 

Dealing  purely  and  nakedly,  — 


ARISTOCRACY.1 


THERE  is  an  attractive  topic,  which  never  goes  out  of 
vogue  and  is  impertinent  in  no  community,  —  the  per 
manent  fcraits  of  the  Aristocracy.  It  is  an  interest  of 
the  human  racer  and,  as  I  look  at  it,  inevitable,  sacred 
and  to  be  found  in  every  country  and  in  every  com 
pany  of  men.  My  concern  with  it  is  that  concern  which 
all  well-disposed  persons  will  feel,  that  there  should  be 
model  men,  —  true  instead  of  spurious  pictures  of  ex 
cellence,  and,  if  possible,  living  standards. 

I  observe  that  the  word  gentleman  is  gladly  heard  in 
all  companies  ;  that  the  cogent  motive  with  the  best 
young  men  who  are  revolving  plans  and  forming  reso 
lutions  for  the  future,  is  the  spirit  of  honor,  the  wish 
to  be  gentlemen.  They  do  not  yet  covet  political  power 
nor  any  exuberance  of  wealth,  wealth  that  costs  too 
much  ;  nor  do  they  wish  to  be  saints  ;  for  fear  of  par 
ti  alism  ;  but  the  middle  term,  the  reconciling  element, 
the  success  of  the  manly  character,  they  find  in  the 
idea  of  gentleman.  It  is  not  to  be  a  man  of  rank,  but 
a  man  of  honor,  accomplished  in  all  arts  and  generosi 
ties,  which  seems  to  them  the  right  mark  and  the  true 
chief  of  our  modern  society.  A  reference  to  society  is 

1  First  read  as  a  lecture  —  in  England  —  in  1848 ;  here  printed  with 
additions  from  other  papers. 


32  ARISTOCRACY. 

part  of  the  idea  of  culture  ;  science  of  a  gentleman ; 
art  of  a  gentleman  ;  poetry  in  a  gentleman  :  intellect 
ually  held,  that  is,  for  their  own  sake,  for  what  they 
are  ;  for  their  universal  beauty  and  worth  ;  —  not  for 
economy,  which  degrades  them,  but  not  over-intellectu- 
ally,  that  is,  not  to  ecstasy,  entrancing  the  man,  but  re 
dounding  to  his  beauty  and  glory. 

In  the  sketches  which  I  have  to  offer  I  shall  not  be 
surprised  if  my  readers  should  fancy  that  I  am  giving 
them,  under  a  gayer  title,  a  chapter  on  Education.  It 
will  not  pain  me  if  I  am  found  now  and  then  to  rove 
from  the  accepted  and  historic,  to  a  theoreticopeerage  : 
or  if  it  should  turn  out,  what  is  true,  that  I  am  describ 
ing  a  real  aristocracy,  a  chapter  of  Templars  who  sit 
indifferently  in  all  climates  and  under  the  shadow  of 
all  institutions,  but  so  few,  so  heedless  of  badges,  so 
rarely  convened,  so  little  in  sympathy  with  the  pre 
dominant  politics  of  nations,  that  their  names  and  do 
ings  are  not  recorded  in  any  Book  of  Peerage,  or  any 
Court  Journal,  or  even  Daily  Newspaper  of  the  world. 

I  find  the  caste  in  the  man.  The  Golden  Book  of 
Venice,  the  scale  of  European  chivalry,  the  Barons  of 
England,  the  hierarchy  of  India  with  its  impassable  de 
grees,  is  each  a  transcript  of  the  decigrade  or  centi- 
graded  Man.  A  many-chambered  Aristocracy  lies  al 
ready  organized  in  his  moods  and  faculties.  Room  is 
found  for  all  the  departments  of  the  State  in  the  moods 
and  faculties  of  each  human  spirit,  with  separate  func 
tion  and  difference  of  dignity. 

The  terrible  aristocracy  that  is  in  nature.  Real  peo 
ple  dwelling  with  the  real,  face  to  face  undaunted: 
then,  far  down,  people  of  taste,  people  dwelling  in  a  re 
lation,  or  rumor,  or  influence  of  good  and  fair,  enter- 


ARISTOCRACY.  33 

tained  by  it,  superficially  touched,  yet  charmed  by  these 
shadows  :  —  and,  far  below  these,  gross  and  thoughtless, 
the  animal  man,  billows  of  chaos,  down  to  the  dancing 
and  menial  organizations. 

I  observe  the  inextinguishable  prejudice  men  have 
in  favor  of  a  hereditary  transmission  of  qualities.  It 
is  in  vain  to  remind  them  that  Nature  appears  capri 
cious.  Some  qualities  she  carefully  fixes  and  transmits, 
but  some,  and  those  the  finer,  she  exhales  with  the 
breath  of  the  individual,  as  too  costly  to  perpetuate. 
But  I  notice  also  that  they  may  become  fixed  and  per 
manent  in  any  stock,  by  painting  and  repainting  them 
on  every  individual,  until  at  last  Nature  adopts  them 
and  bakes  them  into  her  porcelain.  At  all  events  I 
take  this  inextinguishable  persuasion  in  men's  minds  as 
a  hint  from  the  outward  universe  to  man  to  inlay  as 
many  virtues  and  superiorities  as  he  can  into  this  swift 
fresco  of  the  day,  which  is  hardening  to  an  immortal 
picture. 

If  one  thinks  of  the  interest  which  all  men  have  in 
beauty  of  character  and  manners;  that  it  is  of  the  last 
importance  to  the  imagination  and  affection,  inspiring 
as  it  does  that  loyalty  and  worship  so  essential  to  the 
finish  of  character,  —  certainly,  if  culture,  if  laws,  if 
primogeniture,  if  heraldry,  if  money  could  secure  such 
a  result  as  superior  and  finished  men,  it  would  be  the 
interest  of  all  mankind  to  see  that  the  steps  were  taken, 
the  pains  incurred.  No  taxation,  no  concession,  no  con 
ferring  of  privileges  never  so  exalted  would  be  a  price 
too  large. 

The  old  French  Revolution  attracted  to  its  first  move 
ment  all  the  liberality,  virtue,  hope  and  poetry  in  Eu 
rope.  By  the  abolition  of  kingship  and  aristocracy, 
3 


34  ARISTOCRACY. 

tyranny,  inequality  and  poverty  would  end.  Alas!  no; 
tyranny,  inequality,  poverty,  stood  as  fast  and  fierce  as 
ever.  We  likewise  put  faith  in  Democracy ;  in  the  Re 
publican  principle  carried  out  to  the  extremes  of  prac 
tice  in  universal  suffrage,  in  the  will  of  majorities.  The 
young  adventurer  finds  that  the  relations  of  society,  the 
position  of  classes,  irk  and  sting  him,  and  he  lends  him 
self  to  each  malignant  party  that  assails  what  is  eminent. 
He  will  one  day  know  that  this  is  not  removable,  but  a 
distinction  in  the  nature  of  things;  that  neither  the 
caucus,  nor  the  newspaper,  nor  the  Congress,  nor  the 
mob,  nor  the  guillotine,  nor  fire,  nor  all  together,  can 
avail  to  outlaw,  cut  out,  burn,  or  destroy  the  offence  of 
superiority  in  persons.  The  manners,  the  pretension, 
which  annoy  me  so  much,  are  not  superficial,  but  built 
on  a  real  distinction  in  the  nature  of  my  companion. 
The  superiority  in  him  is  inferiority  in  me,  and  if  this 
particular  companion  were  wiped  by  a  sponge  out  of 
nature,  my  inferiority  would  still  be  made  evident  to 
me  by  other  persons  everywhere  and  every  day. 

No,  not  the  hardest  utilitarian  will  question  the  value 
of  an  aristocracy  if  he  love  himself.  For  every  man 
confesses  that  the  highest  good  which  the  universe  pro 
poses  to  him  is  the  highest  society.  If  a  few  grand  na 
tures  should  come  to  us  and  weave  duties  and  offices 
between  us  and  them,  it  would  make  our  bread  am 
brosial. 

I  affirm  that  inequalities  exist,  not  in  costume,  but  in 
the  powers  of  expression  and  action;  a  primitive  aris 
tocracy;  and  that  we,  certainly,  have  not  come  here  to 
describe  well-dressed  vulgarity.  I  cannot  tell  how  Eng 
lish  titles  are  bestowed,  whether  on  pure  blood,  or  on 
the  largest  holder  in  the  three-per-cents.  The  English 


ARISTOCRACY.  35 

government  and  people,  or  the  French  government,  may 
easily  make  mistakes;  but  Nature  makes  none.  Every 
mark  and  scutcheon  of  hers  indicates  constitutional 
qualities.  In  science,  in  trade,  in  social  discourse,  as  in 
the  state,  it  is  the  same  thing.  Forever  and  ever  it 
takes  a  pound  to  lift  a  pound. 

It  is  plain  that  all  the  deference  of  modern  society  to 
this  idea  of  the  Gentleman,  and  all  the  whimsical  tyr 
anny  of  Fashion  which  has  continued  to  engraft  itself 
on  this  reverence,  is  a  secret  homage  to  reality  and  love 
which  ought  to  reside  in  every  man.  This  is  the  steel 
that  is  hid  under  gauze  and  lace,  under  flowers  and 
spangles.  And  it  is  plain  that  instead  of  this  idolatry, 
a  worship ;  instead  of  this  impure,  a  pure  reverence  for 
character,  a  new  respect  for  the  sacredness  of  the  in 
dividual  man,  is  that  antidote  which  must  correct  in  our 
country  the  disgraceful  deference  to  public  opinion,  and 
the  insane  subordination  of  the  end  to  the  means.  From 
the  folly  of  too  much  association  we  must  come  back  to 
the  repose  of  self-reverence  and  trust. 

The  game  of  the  world  is  a  perpetual  trial  of  strength 
between  man  and  events.  The  common  man  is  the  vic 
tim  of  events.  Whatever  happens  is  too  much  for  him, 
he  is  drawn  this  way  and  that  way,  and  his  whole  life  is 
a  hurry.  The  superior  man  is  at  home  in  his  own  mind. 
We  like  cool  people,  who  neither  hope  nor  fear  too 
much,  but  seem  to  have  many  strings  to  their  bow,  and 
can  survive  the  blow  well  enough  if  stock  should  rise 
or  fall,  if  parties  should  be  broken  up,  if  their  money 
or  their  family  should  be  dispersed;  who  can  stand  a 
slander  very  well ;  indeed  on  whom  events  make  little 
or  no  impression,  and  who  can  face  death  with  firmness. 
In  short,  we  dislike  every  mark  of  a  superficial  life  and 
action,  and  prize  whatever  mark  of  a  central  life. 


36  ARISTOCRACY. 

What  is  the  meaning  of  this  invincible  respect  for 
war,  here  in  the  triumphs  of  our  commercial  civiliza 
tion,  that  we  can  never  quite  smother  the  trumpet  and 
the  drum?  How  is  it  that  the  sword  runs  away  with 
all  the  fame  from  the  spade  and  the  wheel?  How 
sturdy  seem  to  us  in  the  history,  those  Merovingians, 
Guelphs,  Dorias,  Sforzas,  Burgundies  and  Guesclins  of 
the  old  warlike  ages!  We  can  hardly  believe  they  were 
all  such  speedy  shadows  as  we ;  that  an  ague  or  fever, 
a  drop  of  water  or  a  crystal  of  ice  ended  them.  We 
give  soldiers  the  same  advantage  to-day.  From  the 
most  accumulated  culture  we  are  always  running  back 
to  the  sound  of  any  drum  and  fife.  And  in  any  trade, 
or  in  law-courts,  in  orchard  and  farm,  and  even  in  sa 
loons,  they  only  prosper  or  they  prosper  best  who  have 
a  military  mind,  who  engineer  in  sword  and  cannon 
style,  with  energy  and  sharpness.  Why,  but  because 
courage  never  loses  its  high  price?  Why,  but  because 
we  wish  to  see  those  to  whom  existence  is  most  adorned 
and  attractive,  foremost  to  peril  it  for  their  object,  and 
ready  to  answer  for  their  actions  with  their  life. 

The  existence  of  an  upper  class  is  not  injurious,  as 
long  as  it  is  dependent  on  merit.  For  so  long  it  is  prov 
ocation  to  the  bold  and  generous.  These  distinctions 
exist,  and  they  are  deep,  not  to  be  talked  or  voted 
away.  If  the  differences  are  organic,  so  are  the  merits, 
that  is  to  say  the  power  and  excellence  we  describe  are 
real.  Aristocracy  is  the  class  eminent  by  personal  quali 
ties,  and  to  them  belongs  without  assertion  a  proper  in 
fluence.  Men  of  aim  must  lead  the  aimless;  men  of 
invention  the  uninventive.  I  wish  catholic  men,  who  by 
their  science  and  skill  are  at  home  in  every  latitude  and 
longitude,  who  carry  the  world  in  their  thoughts;  men 


ARISTOCRACY.  37 

of  universal  politics,  who  are  interested  in  things  in  pro 
portion  to  their  truth  and  magnitude;  who  know  the 
beauty  of  animals  and  the  laws  of  their  nature,  whom 
the  mystery  of  botany  allures,  and  the  mineral  laws; 
who  see  general  effects  and  are  not  too  learned  to  love 
the  Imagination,  the  power  and  the  spirits  of  Solitude; 
—  men  who  see  the  dance  in  men's  lives  as  well  as  in  a 
ball-room,  and  can  feel  and  convey  the  sense  which  is 
only  collectively  or  totally  expressed  by  a  population; 
men  who  are  charmed  by  the  beautiful  Nemesis  as  well 
as  by  the  dire  Nemesis,  and  dare  trust  their  inspiration 
for  their  welcome ;  who  would  find  their  fellows  in  per 
sons  of  real  elevation  of  whatever  kind  of  speculative 
or  practical  ability.  We  are  fallen  on  times  so  acquies 
cent  and  traditionary  that  we  are  in  danger  of  forget 
ting  so  simple  a  fact  as  that  the  basis  of  all  aristocracy 
must  be  truth,  —  the  doing  what  elsewhere  is  pretended 
to  be  done.  One  would  gladly  see  all  our  institutions 
rightly  aristocratic  in  this  wise. 

I  enumerate  the  claims  by  which  men  enter  the  su 
perior  class. 

1.  A  commanding  talent.  In  every  company  one 
finds  the  best  man;  and  if  there  be  any  question,  it  is 
decided  the  instant  they  enter  into  any  practical  enter 
prise.  If  the  finders  of  glass,  gunpowder,  printing, 
electricity,  —  if  the  healer  of  small-pox,  the  contriver  of 
the  safety  lamp,  of  the  aqueduct,  of  the  bridge,  of  the 
tunnel;  if  the  finders  of  parallax,  of  new  planets,  of 
steam  power  for  boat  and  carriage,  the  finder  of  sul 
phuric  ether  and  the  electric  telegraph,  —  if  these  men 
should  keep  their  secrets,  or  only  communicate  them  to 
each  other,  must  not  the  whole  race  of  mankind  serve 
them  as  gods?  It  only  needs  to  look  at  the  social  as- 


38  ARISTOCRACY. 

pect  of  England  and  America  and  France,  to  see  the 
rank  which  original  practical  talent  commands. 

Every  survey  of  the  dignified  classes,  in  ancient  or 
modern  history,  imprints  universal  lessons,  and  estab 
lishes  a  nobility  of  a  prouder  creation.  And  the  con 
clusion  which  Roman  Senators,  Indian  Brahmins,  Per 
sian  Magians,  European  Nobles  and  great  Americans 
inculcate,  —  that  which  they  preach  out  of  their  ma 
terial  wealth  and  glitter,  out  of  their  old  war  and  modern 
land-owning,  even  out  of  sensuality  and  sneers,  is,  that 
the  radical  and  essential  distinctions  of  every  aristocracy 
are  moral.  Do  not  hearken  to  the  men,  but  to  the  Des 
tiny  in  the  institutions.  An  aristocracy  is  composed  of 
simple  and  sincere  men  for  whom  nature  and  ethics  are 
strong  enough,  who  say  what  they  mean  and  go  straight 
to  their  objects.  It  is  essentially  real. 

The  multiplication  of  monarchs  known  by  telegraph 
and  daily  news  from  all  countries  to  the  daily  papers, 
and  the  effect  of  freer  institutions  in  England  and 
America,  has  robbed  the  title  of  king  of  all  its  romance, 
as  that  of  our  commercial  consuls  as  compared  with  the 
ancient  Roman.  We  shall  come  to  add  "  Kings  "  in  the 
"  Contents  "  of  the  Directory,  as  we  do  "  Physicians," 
"  Brokers,"  etc.  In  simple  communities,  in  the  heroic 
ages,  a  man  was  chosen  for  his  knack  ;  got  his  name, 
rank  and  living  for  that ;  and  the  best  of  the  best  was 
the  aristocrat  or  king.  In  the  Norse  Edda  it  appears 
as  the  curious  but  excellent  policy  of  contending  tribes, 
when  tired  of  war,  to  exchange  hostages,  and  in  reality 
each  to  adopt  from  the  other  a  first-rate  man,  who  thus 
acquired  a  new  country  ;  was  at  once  made  a  chief. 
And  no  wrong  was  so  keenly  resented  as  any  fraud  in 
this  transaction.  In  the  heroic  ages,  as  we  call  them, 


ARISTOCRACY.  39 

the  hero  uniformly  has  some  real  talent.  Ulysses  in 
Homer  is  represented  as  a  very  skilful  carpenter.  He 
builds  the  boat  with  which  he  leaves  Calypso's  isle,  and 
in  his  own  palace  carves  a  bedstead  out  of  the  trunk  of 
a  tree  and  inlays  it  with  gold  and  ivory.  Epeus  builds 
the  wooden  horse.  The  English  nation  down  to  a  late 
age  inherited  the  reality  of  the  Northern  stock.  In 
1373,  in  writs  of  summons  of  members  of  Parliament, 
the  sheriff  of  every  county  is  to  cause  "  two  dubbed 
knights,  or  the  most  worthy  esquires,  the  most  expert 
in  feats  of  arms,  and  no  others  ;  and  of  every  city,  two 
citizens,  and  of  every  borough,  two  burgesses,  such  aa 
have  greatest  skill  in  shipping  and  merchandising,  to 
be  returned." 

The  ancients  were  fond  of  ascribing  to  their  nobles 
gigantic  proportions  and  strength.  The  hero  must  have 
the  force  of  ten  men.  The  chief  is  taller  by  a  head 
than  any  of  his  tribe.  Douglas  can  throw  the  bar  a 
greater  cast.  Richard  can  sever  the  iron  bolt  with  his 
sword.  The  horn  of  Roland,  in  the  romance,  is  heard 
sixty  miles.  The  Cid  has  a  prevailing  health  that  will 
let  him  nurse  the  leper,  and  share  his  bed  without  harm. 
And  since  the  body  is  the  pipe  through  which  we  tap 
all  the  succors  and  virtues  of  the  material  world,  it  is 
certain  that  a  sound  body  must  be  at  the  root  of  any  ex 
cellence  in  manners  and  actions  ;  a  strong  and  supple 
frame  which  yields  a  stock  of  strength  and  spirits  for 
all  the  needs  of  the  day,  and  generates  the  habit  of  re 
lying  on  a  supply  of  power  for  all  extraordinary  exer 
tions.  When  Nature  goes  to  create  a  national  man,  she 
puts  a  symmetry  between  the  physical  and  intellectual 
powers.  She  moulds  a  large  brain,  and  joins  to  it  a 
great  trunk  to  supply  it  ;  as  if  a  fine  alembic  were  fed 


40  ARISTOCRACY. 

with  liquor  for  its  distillations  from  broad  full  vats  in 
the  vaults  of  the  laboratory. 

Certainly,  the  origin  of  most  of  the  perversities  and  ab 
surdities  that  disgust  us,  primarily,  is  the  want  of  health. 
Genius  is  health  and  Beauty  is  health  and  Virtue  is 
health.  The  petty  arts  which  we  blame  in  the  half- 
great  seem  as  odious  to  them  also  ;  —  the  resources  of 
weakness  and  despair.  And  the  manners  betray  the 
like  puny  constitution.  Temperament  is  fortune,  and 
we  must  say  it  so  often.  In  a  thousand  cups  of  life, 
only  one  is  the  right  mixture,  —  a  fine  adjustment  to 
the  existing  elements.  When  that  befalls,  when  the 
well-mixed  man  is  born,  with  eyes  not  too  dull  nor  too 
good,  with  fire  enough  and  earth  enough,  capable  of  im 
pressions  from  all  things,  and  not  too  susceptible,  — 
then  no  gift  need  be  bestowed  on  him,  he  brings  with 
him  fortune,  followers,  love,  power. 

"  I  think  he'll  be  to  Rome 
As  is  the  osprey  to  the  fish,  who  takes  it 
By  sovereignty  of  nature." 

Not  the  phrenologist  but  the  philosopher  may  well 
say,  Let  me  see  his  brain,  and  I  will  tell  you  if  he  shall 
be  poet,  king,  founder  of  cities,  rich,  magnetic,  of  a  se 
cure  hand,  of  a  scientific  memory,  a  right  classifier  ;  or 
whether  he  shall  be  a  bungler,  driveller,  unlucky,  heavy, 
and  tedious. 

It  were  to  dispute  against  the  sun,  to  deny  this  differ 
ence  of  brain.  I  see  well  enough  that  when  I  bring  one 
man  into  an  estate,  he  sees  vague  capabilities,  wliat 
others  might,  could,  would,  or  should  do  with  it.  If  I 
bring  another  man,  he  sees  what  he  should  do  with  it. 
He  appreciates  the  water-privilege,  land  fit  for  orchard, 
tillage,  pasturage,  wood -lot,  cranberry  -  meadow  ;  but 


ARISTOCRACY.  41 

just  as  easily  he  foresees  all  the  means,  all  the  steps  of 
the  process,  and  could  lay  his  hand  as  readily  on  one  as 
on  another  point  in  that  series  which  opens  the  capa 
bility  to  the  last  point.  The  poet  sees  wishfully  enough 
the  result  ;  the  well-built  head  supplies  all  the  steps, 
one  as  perfect  as  the  other,  in  the  series.  Seeing  this 
working  head  in  him,  it  becomes  to  me  as  'certain  that 
he  will  have  the  direction  of  estates,  as  that  there  are 
estates.  If  we  see  tools  in  a  magazine,  as  a  file,  an  an 
chor,  a  plough,  a  pump,  a  paint-brush,  a  cider-press,  a 
diving-bell,  we  can  predict  well  enough  their  destina 
tion  ;  and  the  man's  associations,  fortunes,  love,  hatred, 
residence,  rank,  the  books  he  will  buy,  the  roads  he  will 
traverse,  are  predetermined  in  his  organism.  Men  will 
need  him,  and  he  is  rich  and  eminent  by  nature.  That 
man  cannot  be  too  late  or  too  early.  Let  him  not  hurry 
or  hesitate.  Though  millions  are  already  arrived,  his 
seat  is  reserved.  Though  millions  attend,  they  only 
multiply  his  friends  and  agents.  It  never  troubles  the 
Senator  what  multitudes  crack  the  benches  and  bend 
the  galleries  to  hear.  He  who  understands  the  art  of 
war,  reckons  the  hostile  battalions  and  cities,  opportuni 
ties  and  spoils. 

An  aristocracy  could  not  exist  unless  it  were  organic. 
Men  are  born  to  command,  and  —  it  is  even  so  —  "  come 
into  the  world  booted  and  spurred  to  ride."  The  blood 
royal  never  pays,  we  say.  It  obtains  service,  gifts,  sup 
plies,  furtherance  of  all  kinds  from  the  love  and  joy  of 
those  who  feel  themselves  honored  by  the  service  they 
render. 

Dull  people  think  it  Fortune  that  makes  one  rich  and 
another  poor.  Is  it  ?  Yes,  but  the  fortune  was  earlier 
tlian  they  think,  namely,  in  the  balance  or  adjustment 


42  ARISTOCRACY. 

between  devotion  to  what  is  agreeable  to-day  and  the 
forecast  of  what  will  be  valuable  to-morrow. 

Certainly  I  am  not  going  to  argue  the  merits  of  gra 
dation  in  the  universe  ;  the  existing  order  of  more  or 
less.  Neither  do  I  wish  to  go  into  a  vindication  of  the 
justice  that  disposes  the  variety  of  lot.  I  know  how 
steep  the  contrast  of  condition  looks  ;  such  excess  here 
and  such  destitution  there  ;  like  entire  chance,  like  the 
freaks  of  the  wind,  heaping  the  snow-drift  in  gorges, 
stripping  the  plain  ;  such  despotism  of  wealth  and  com 
fort  in  banquet  halls,  whilst  death  is  in  the  pots  of  the 
wretched,  —  that  it  behooves  a  good  man  to  walk  with 
tenderness  and  heed  amidst  so  much  suffering.  I  only 
point  in  passing  to  the  order  of  the  universe,  which 
makes  a  rotation,  —  not  like  the  coarse  policy  of  the 
Greeks,  ten  generals,  each  commanding  one  day  and 
then  giving  place  to  the  next,  or  like  our  democratic 
politics,  my  turn  now,  your  turn  next,  —  but  the  consti 
tution  of  things  has  distributed  a  new  quality  or  talent 
to  each  mind,  and  the  revolution  of  things  is  always 
bringing  the  need,  now  of  this,  now  of  that,  and  is  sure 
to  bring  home  the  opportunity  to  every  one. 

The  only  relief  that  I  know  against  the  invidiousness 
of  superior  position  is,  that  you  exert  your  faculty  ;  for 
whilst  each  does  that,  he  excludes  hard  thoughts  from 
the  spectator.  All  right  activity  is  amiable.  I  never 
feel  that  any  man  occupies  my  place,  but  that  the  reason 
why  I  do  not  have  what  I  wish,  is,  that  I  want  the  fac 
ulty  which  entitles.  All  spiritual  or  real  power  makes 
its  own  place. 

We  pass  for  what  we  are,  and  we  prosper  or  fail  by 
what  we  are.  There  are  men  who  may  dare  much  and 
will  be  justified  in  their  daring.  But  it  is  because  they 


ARISTOCRACY.  43 

know  they  are  in  their  place.  As  long  as  I  am  in  my 
place,  I  am  safe.  "  The  best  lightning-rod  for  your  pro 
tection  is  your  own  spine."  Let  a  man's  social  aims  be 
proportioned  to  his  means  and  power.  I  do  not  pity 
the  misery  of  a  man  underplaced  :  that  will  right  itself 
presently  :  but  I  pity  the  man  overplaced.  A  certain 
quantity  of  power  belongs  to  a  certain  quantity  of  fac 
ulty.  Whoever  wants  more  power  than  is  the  legiti 
mate  attraction  of  his  faculty,  is  a  politician,  and  must 
pay  for  that  excess  ;  must  truckle  for  it.  This  is  the 
whole  game  of  society  and  the  politics  of  the  world. 
Being  will  always  seem  well  ;  —  but  whether  possibly  I 
cannot  contrive  to  seem,  without  the  trouble  of  being  ? 
Every  Frenchman  would  have  a  career.  We  English 
are  not  any  better  with  our  love  of  making  a  figure. 
"  I  told  the  Duke  of  Newcastle,"  says  Bubb  Dodding- 
ton  in  his  Memoirs,  "  that  it  must  end  one  way  or  an 
other,  it  must  not  remain  as  it  was  ;  for  I  was  deter 
mined  to  make  some  sort  of  a  figure  in  life  ;  I  earnestly 
wished  it  might  be  under  his  protection,  but  if  that 
could  not  be,  I  must  make  some  figure  ;  what  it  would 
be  I  could  not  determine  yet  ;  I  must  look  round  me  a 
little  and  consult  my  friends,  but  some  figure  I  was  re 
solved  to  make." 

It  will  be  agreed  everywhere  that  society  must  have 
the  benefit  of  the  best  leaders.  How  to  obtain  them  ? 
Birth  has  been  tried  and  failed.  Caste  in  India  has  no 
good  result.  Ennobling  of  one  family  is  good  for  one 
generation  ;  not  sure  beyond.  Slavery  had  mischief 
enough  to  answer  for,  but  it  had  this  good  in  it,  —  the 
pricing  of  men.  In  the  South  a  slave  was  bluntly  but 
accurately  valued  at  five  hundred  to  a  thousand  dollars, 
if  a  good  field-hand  ;  if  a  mechanic,  as  carpenter  or 


44  ARISTOCRACY. 

smith,  twelve  hundred  or  two  thousand.  In  Rome  or 
Greece  what  sums  would  not  be  paid  fer  a  superior 
slave,  a  confidential  secretary  or  manager,  an  educated 
slave  ;  a  man  of  genius,  a  Moses  educated  in  Egypt  ? 
I  don't  know  how  much  Epictetus  was  sold  for,  or 
./Esop,  or  Toussaint  1'Ouverture,  and  perhaps  it  was  not 
a  good  market-day.  Time  was,  in  England,  when  t'ae 
state  stipulated  beforehand  what  price  should  be  paid 
for  each  citizen's  life,  if  he  was  killed.  Now,  if  it  were 
possible,  I  should  like  to  see  that  appraisal  applied  to 
every  man,  and  every  man  made  acquainted  with  the 
true  number  and  weight  of  every  adult  citizen,  and  that 
he  be  placed  where  he  belongs,  with  so  much  power 
confided  to  him  as  he  could  carry  and  use. 

In  the  absence  of  such  anthropometer  I  have  a  per-i 
feet  confidence  in  the  natural  laws.  I  think  that  the 
community  —  every  community,  if  obstructing  laws 
and  usages  are  removed  —  will  be  the  best  measure 
and  the  justest  judge  of  the  citizen,  or  will  in  the  long 
run  give  the  fairest  verdict  and  reward  ;  better  than 
any  royal  patronage  ;  better  than  any  premium  on  race ; 
better  than  any  statute  elevating  families  to  hereditary 
distinction,  or  any  class  to  sacerdotal  education  and 
power.  The  verdict  of  battles  will  best  prove  the  gen 
eral  ;  the  town-meeting,  the  Congress,  will  not  fail  to 
find  out  legislative  talent.  The  prerogatives  of  a  right 
physician  are  determined,  not  by  his  diplomas,  but  by 
the  health  he  restores  to  body  and  mind  ;  the  powers 
of  a  geometer  by  solving  his  problem  ;  of  a  priest  by 
the  act  of  inspiring  us  with  a  sentiment  which  disperses 
the  grief  from  which  we  suffered.  When  the  lawyer 
tries  his  case  in  court  he  himself  is  also  on  trial,  and  his 
own  merits  appear  as  well  as  his  client's.  When  old 


ARISTOCRACY.  45 

writers  are  consulted  by  young  writers  who  have  writ 
ten  their  first  book,  they  say,  Publish  it  by  all  means  ; 
so  only  can  you  certainly  know  its  quality. 

But  we  venture  to  put  any  man  in  any  place.  It  is 
curious  how  negligent  the  public  is  of  the  essential  qual 
ifications  of  its  representatives.  They  ask  if  a  man  is 
a  republican,  a  democrat  ?  Yes.  Is  he  a  man  of  tal 
ent  ?  Yes.  Is  he  honest  and  not  looking  for  an  office  or 
any  manner  of  bribe  ?  He  is  honest.  Well  then  choose 
him  by  acclamation.  And  they  go  home  and  tell  their 
wives  with  great  satisfaction  what  a  good  thing  they 
have  done.  But  they  forgot  to  ask  the  fourth  question, 
not  less  important  than  either  of  the  others,  and  with 
out  which  the  others  do  not  avail.  Has  he  a  will  ?  Can 
he  carry  his  points  against  opposition  ?  Probably  not. 
It  is  not  sufficient  that  your  work  follows  your  genius, 
or  is  organic,  to  give  you  the  magnetic  power  over  men. 
More  than  taste  and  talent  must  go  to  the  Will.  That 
must  also  be  a  gift  of  nature.  It  is  in  some  ;  it  is  not 
in  others.  But  I  should  say,  if  it  is  not  in  you,  you  had 
better  not  put  yourself  in  places  where  not  to  have  it 
is  to  be  a  public  enemy. 

The  expectation  and  claims  of  mankind  indicate  the 
duties  of  this  class.  Some  service  they  must  pay.  We 
do  not  expect  them  to  be  saints,  and  it  is  very  pleasing 
to  see  the  instinct  of  mankind  on  this  matter,  —  how 
much  they  will  forgive  to  such  as  pay  substantial  ser 
vice  and  work  energetically  after  their  kind  ;  but  they 
do  not  extend  the  same  indulgence  to  those  who  claim 
and  enjoy  the  same  prerogative  but  render  no  returns. 
The  day  is  darkened  when  the  golden  river  runs  down 
into  mud  ;  when  genius  grows  idle  and  wanton  and 
reckless  of  its  fine  duties  of  being  Saint,  Prophet,  In- 


46  ARISTOCRACY. 

spirer  to  its  humble  fellows,  baulks  their  respect  and 
confounds  their  understanding  by  silly  extravagances. 
To  a  right  aristocracy,  to  Hercules,  to  Theseus,  Odin, 
the  Cid,  Napoleon  ;  to  Sir  Robert  Walpole,  to  Fox, 
Chatham,  Mirabeau,  Jefferson,  O'Connell  ;  —  to  the 
men,  that  is,  who  are  incomparably  superior  to  the  pop 
ulace,  in  ways  agreeable  to  the  populace,  showing  them 
the  way  they  should  go,  doing  for  them  what  they 
wish  done  and  cannot  do  ;  —  of  course  everything  will 
be  permitted  and  pardoned,  —  gaming,  drinking,  light 
ing,  luxury.  These  are  the  heads  of  party,  who  can 
do  no  wrong,  —  everything  short  of  infamous  crime 
will  pass.  But  if  those  who  merely  sit  in  their  places 
and  are  not,  like  them,  able  ;  if  the  dressed  and  per 
fumed  gentleman,  who  serves  the  people  in  no  wise 
and  adorns  them  not,  is  not  even  not  afraid  of  them,  if 
such  an  one  go  about  to  set  ill  examples  and  corrupt 
them,  who  shall  blame  them  if  they  burn  his  barns,  in 
sult  his  children,  assault  his  person,  and  express  their 
unequivocal  indignation  and  contempt  ?  He  eats  their 
bread,  he  does  not  scorn  to  live  by  their  labor,  and  after 
breakfast  he  cannot  remember  that  there  are  human 
beings.  To  live  without  duties  is  obscene. 

2.  Genius,  what  is  so  called  in  strictness,  —  the  power 
to  affect  the  Imagination,  as  possessed  by  the  orator, 
the  poet,  the  novelist,  or  the  artist,  —  has  a  royal  right 
in  all  possessions  and  privileges,  being  itself  represent 
ative  and  accepted  by  all  men  as  their  delegate.  It  has 
indeed  the  best  right,  because  it  raises  men  above  them 
selves,  intoxicates  them  with  beauty.  They  are  hon 
ored  by  rendering  it  honor,  and  the  reason  of  this 
allowance  is  that  Genius  unlocks  for  all  men  the  chains 
of  use,  temperament  and  drudgery,  and  gives  them  a 
sense  of  delicious  liberty  and  power. 


ARISTOCRACY.  47 

The  first  example  that  occurs  is  an  extraordinary 
gift  of  eloquence.  A  man  who  has  that  possession  of 
his  means  and  that  magnetism  that  he  can  at  all  times 
carry  the  convictions  of  a  public  assembly,  we  must  re 
spect,  and  he  is  thereby  ennobled.  He  has  the  freedom 
of  the  city.  He  is  entitled  to  neglect  trifles.  Like  a 
great  general,  or  a  great  poet,  or  a  millionaire,  he  may 
wear  his  coat  out  at  elbows,  and  his  hat  on  his  feet,  if 
he  will.  He  has  established  relation,  representative 
ness.  The  best  feat  of  genius  is  to  bring  all  the  vari 
eties  of  talent  and  culture  into  its  audience  ;  the  medi 
ocre  and  the  dull  are  reached  as  well  as  the  intelligent. 
I  have  seen  it  conspicuously  shown  in  a  village.  Here 
are  classes  which  day  by  day  have  no  intercourse,  noth 
ing  beyond  perhaps  a  surly  nod  in  passing.  But  I  have 
seen  a  man  of  teeming  brain  come  among  these  men, 
so  full  of  his  facts,  so  unable  to  suppress  them,  that  he 
has  poured  out  a  river  of  knowledge  to  all  comers,  and 
drawing  all  these  men  round  him,  all  sorts  of  men,  in 
terested  the  whole  village,  good  and  bad,  bright  and 
stupid,  in  his  facts  ;  the  iron  boundary  lines  had  all 
faded  away  ;  the  stupid  had  discovered  that  they  were 
not  stupid  ;  the  coldest  had  found  themselves  drawn  to 
their  neighbors  by  interest  in  the  same  things.  This 
was  a  naturalist. 

The  more  familiar  examples  of  this  power  certainly 
are  those  who  establish  a  wider  dominion  over  men's 
minds  than  any  speech  can  ;  who  think,  and  paint,  and 
laugh,  and  weep,  in  their  eloquent  closets,  and  then  con 
vert  the  world  into  a  huge  whispering  gallery,  to  report 
the  tale  to  all  men,  and  win  smiles  and  tears  from  many 
generations.  The  eminent  examples  are  Shakspeare, 
Cervantes,  Bunyan,  Burns,  Scott  and  now  we  must  add 


48  ARISTOCRACY. 

Dickens.  In  the  fine  arts,  I  find  none  in  the  present 
age  who  have  any  popular  power,  who  have  achieved 
any  nobility  by  ennobling  the  people. 

3.  Elevation  of  sentiment,  refining  and  inspiring  the 
manners,  must  really  take  the  place  of  every  distinc 
tion  whether  of  material  power  or  of  intellectual  gifts. 
The  manners  of  course  must  have  that  depth  and  firm 
ness  of  tone  to  attest  their  centrality  in  the  nature  of 
the  man.  I  mean  the  things  themselves  shall  be  judges, 
and  determine.  In  the  presence  of  this  nobility  even 
genius  must  stand  aside.  For  the  two  poles  of  nature 
are  Beauty  and  Meanness,  and  noble  sentiment  is  the 
highest  form  of  Beauty.  He  is  beautiful  in  face,  in 
port,  in  manners,  who  is  absorbed  in  objects  which  he 
truly  believes  to  be  superior  to  himself.  Is  there  any 
parchment  or  any  cosmetic  or  any  blood  that  can  obtain 
homage  like  that*  security  of  air  presupposing  so  un- 
doubtingly  the  sympathy  of  men  in  his  designs  ?  What 
is  it  that  makes  the  true  knight  ?  Loyalty  to  his 
thought.  That  makes  the  beautiful  scorn,  the  elegant 
simplicity,  the  directness,  the  commanding  port  which 
all  men  admire  and  which  men  not  noble  affect.  For 
the  thought  has  no  debts,  no  hunger,  no  lusts,  no  low 
obligations  or  relations,  no  intrigue  or  business,  no  mur 
der,  no  envy,  no  crime,  but  large  leisures  and  an  invit 
ing  future. 

The  service  we  receive  from  the  great  is  a  mutual 
deference.  If  you  deal  with  the  vulgar,  life  is  reduced 
to  beggary  indeed.  The  astronomers  are  very  eager  to 
know  whether  the  moon  has  an  atmosphere  ;  I  am  only 
concerned  that  every  man  have  one.  I  observe  how 
ever  that  it  takes  two  to  make  an  atmosphere.  I  an 
acquainted  with  persons  who  go  attended  with  this  am- 


ARISTOCRACY.  49 

bient  cloud.  It  is  sufficient  that  they  come.  It  is  not 
important  what  they  say.  The  sun  and  the  evening 
sky  are  not  calmer.  They  seem  to  have  arrived  at  the 
fact,  to  have  got  rid  of  the  show,  and  to  be  serene. 
Their  manners  and  behavior  in  the  house  and  in  the 
field  are  those  of  men  at  rest  :  what  have  they  to  con 
ceal  ?  what  have  they  to  exhibit  ?  Others  I  meet,  who 
have  no  deference,  and  who  denude  and  strip  one  of  all 
attributes  but  material  values.  As  much  health  and 
muscle  as  you  have,  as  much  land,  as  much  house-room 
and  dinner,  avails.  Of  course  a  man  is  a  poor  bag  of 
bones.  There  is  no  gracious  interval,  not  an  inch  al 
lowed.  Bone  nibs  against  bone.  Life  is  thus  a  Beg 
gar's  Bush.  I  know  nothing  which  induces  so  base  and 
forlorn  a  feeling  as  when  we  are  treated  for  our  utilities, 
as  economists  do,  starving  the  imagination  and  the  sen 
timent.  In  this  impoverishing  animation,  I  seem  to 
meet  a  Hunger,  a  wolf.  Rather  let  us  be  alone  whilst 
we  live,  than  encounter  these  lean  kine.  Man  should 
emancipate  man.  He  does  so,  not  by  jamming  him, 
but  by  distancing  him.  The  nearer  my  friend,  the  more 
spacious  is  our  realm,  the  more  diameter  our  spheres 
have.  It  is  a  measure  of  culture,  the  number  of  things 
taken  for  granted.  When  a  man  begins  to  speak,  the 
churl  will  take  him  up  by  disputing  his  first  words,  so 
he  cannot  come  at  his  scope.  The  wise  man  takes  all 
for  granted  until  he  sees  the  parallelism  of  that  which 
puzzled  him  with  his  own  view. 

I  will  not  protract  this  discourse  by  describing  the 
duties  of  the  brave  and  generous.  And  yet  I  will  ven 
ture  to  name  one,  and  the  same  is  almost  the  sole  con 
dition  on  which  knighthood  is  to  be  won  ;  this,  namely, 
loyalty  to  your  own  order.  The  true  aristocrat  is  he 
4 


50  ARISTOCRACY. 

who  is  at  the  head  of  his  own  order,  and  disloyalty  is  to 
mistake  other  chivalries  for  his  own.  Let  him  not  di 
vide  his  homage,  but  stand  for  that  which  he  was  born 
and  set  to  maintain.  It  was  objected  to  Gustavus  that 
he  did  not  better  distinguish  between  the  duties  of  a 
carabine  and  a  general,  but  exposed  himself  to  all  dan 
gers  and  was  too  prodigal  of  a  blood  so  precious.  For 
a  soul  on  which  elevated  duties  are  laid  will  so  realize 
its  special  and  lofty  duties  as  not  to  be  in  danger  of 
assuming  through  a  low  generosity  those  which  do  not 
belong  to  it. 

There  are  all  degrees  of  nobility,  but  amid  the  levity 
and  giddiness  of  people  one  looks  round,  as  for  a  tower 
of  strength,  on  some  self-dependent  mind,  who  does  not 
go  abroad  for  an  estimate,  and  has  long  ago  made  up 
its  conclusion  that  it  is  impossible  to  fail.  The  great 
Indian  sages  had  a  lesson  for  the  Brahmin,  which  every 
day  returns  to  mind,  "  All  that  depends  on  another 
gives  pain  ;  all  that  depends  on  himself  gives  pleasure  ; 
in  these  few  words  is  the  definition  of  pleasure  and 
pain."  The  noble  mind  is  here  to  teach  us  that  failure 
is  a  part  of  success.  Prosperity  and  pound-cake  are 
for  very  young  gentlemen,  whom  such  things  content  ; 
but  a  hero's,  a  man's  success  is  made  up  of  failures, 
because  he  experiments  and  ventures  every  day,  and 
"  the  more  falls  he  gets,  moves  faster  on  ; "  defeated 
all  the  time  and  yet  to  victory  born.  I  have  heard  that 
in  horsemanship  he  is  not  the  good  rider  who  never  was 
thrown,  but  rather  that  a  man  never  will  be  a  good 
rider  until  he  is  thrown  ;  then  he  will  not  be  haunted 
any  longer  by  the  terror  that  he  shall  tumble,  and  will 
ride  :  —  that  is  his  business,  —  to  ride,  whether  with  falls 
or  whether  with  none,  to  ride  unto  the  place  whither  he 


ARISTOCRACY.  51 

is  bound.  And  I  know  no  such  unquestionable  badge 
and  ensign  of  a  sovereign  mind,  as  that  tenacity  of  pur 
pose  which,  through  all  change  of  companions,  of  par 
ties,  of  fortunes,  —  changes  never,  bates  no  jot  of  heart 
or  hope,  but  wearies  out  opposition,  and  arrives  at  its 
port.  In  his  consciousness  of  deserving  success,  the 
caliph  Ali  constantly,  neglected  the  ordinary  means  of 
attaining  it ;  and  to  the  grand  interests,  a  superficial 
success  is  of  no  account.  It  prospers  as  well  in  mistake 
as  in  luck,  in  obstruction  and  nonsense  as  well  as  among 
the  angels  ;  it  reckons  fortunes  mere  paint ;  difficulty 
is  its  delight  :  perplexity  is  its  noonday  :  minds  that 
make  their  way  without  winds  and  against  tides.  But 
these  are  rare  and  difficult  examples  ;  we  can  only  indi 
cate  them  to  show  how  high  is  the  range  of  the  realm  of 
Honor. 

I  know  the  feeling  of  the  most  ingenuous  and  excel 
lent  youth  in  America  ;  I  hear  the  complaint  of  the  as 
pirant  that  we  have  no  prizes  offered  to  the  ambition  of 
virtuous  young  men  ;  that  there  is  no  Theban  Band  ;  no 
stern  exclusive  Legion  of  Honor,  to  be  entered  only  by 
long  and  real  service  and  patient  climbing  up  all  the 
steps.  We  have  a  rich  men's  aristocracy,  plenty  of 
bribes  for  those  who  like  them  ;  but  a  grand  style  of 
culture,  which,  without  injury,  an  ardent  youth  can  pro 
pose  to  himself  as  a  Pharos  through  long  dark  years, 
does  not  exist,  and  there  is  no  substitute.  The  youth, 
having  got  through  the  first  thickets  that  oppose  his 
entrance  into  life,  having  got  into  decent  society,  is  left 
to  himself,  and  falls  abroad  with  too  much  freedom. 
But  in  the  hours  of  insight  we  rally  against  this  skepti 
cism.  We  then  see  that  if  the  ignorant  are  around  us, 
the  great  are  much  more  near  ;  that  there  is  au  order 


52  ARISTOCRACY. 

of  men,  never  quite  absent,  who  enroll  no  names  in 
their  archives  but  of  such  as  are  capable  of  truth.  They 
are  gathered  in  no  one  chamber  ;  no  chamber  would 
hold  them  ;  but,  out  of  the  vast  duration  of  man's  race, 
they  tower  like  mountains,  and  are  present  to  every 
mind  in  proportion  to  its  likeness  to  theirs.  The  solita- 
riest  man  who  shares  their  spirit  walks  environed  by 
them  ;  they  talk  to  him,  they  comfort  him,  and  happy  is 
he  who  prefers  these  associates  to  profane  companions. 
They  also  take  shape  in  men,  in  women.  There  is  no 
heroic  trait,  no  sentiment  or  thought,  that  will  not 
sometime  embody  itself  in  the  form  of  a  friend.  That 
highest  good  of  rational  existence  is  always  coming  to 
such  as  reject  mean  alliances. 

One  trait  more  we  must  celebrate,  the  self-reliance 
which  is  the  patent  of  royal  natures.  It  is  so  prized  a 
jewel  that  it  is  sure  to  be  tested.  The  rules  and  disci 
pline  are  ordered  for  that.  The  Golden  Table  never 
lacks  members  ;  all  its  seats  are  kept  full  ;  but  with 
this  strange  provision,  that  the  members  are  carefully 
withdrawn  into  deep  niches  so  that  no  one  of  them  can 
see  any  other  of  them,  and  each  believes  himself  alone. 
In  the  presence  of  the  Chapter  it  is  easy  for  each  mem 
ber  to  carry  himself  royally  and  well  ;  but  in  the  ab 
sence  of  his  colleagues  and  in  the  presence  of  mean 
people  he  is  tempted  to  accept  the  low  customs  of  towns. 
The  honor  of  a  member  consists  in  an  indifferency  to 
the  persons  and  practices  about  him,  and  in  the  pursu 
ing  undisturbed  the  career  of  a  Brother,  as  if  always 
in  their  presence,  and  as  if  no  other  existed.  Give 
up,  once  for  all,  the  hope  of  approbation  from  the  peo 
ple  in  the  street,  if  you  are  pursuing  great  ends.  How 
can  they  guess  your  designs  ? 


ARISTOCRACY.  53 

All  reference  to  models,  all  comparison  with  neigh 
boring  abilities  and  reputations,  is  the  road  to  medioc 
rity.  The  generous  soul,  on  arriving  in  a  new  port, 
makes  instant  preparation  for  a  new  voyage.  By  ex 
periment,  by  original  studies,  by  secret  obedience,  he 
has  made  a  place  for  himself  in  the  world  ;  stands 
there  a  real,  substantial,  unprecedented  person,  and 
when  the  great  come  by,  as  always  there  are  angels 
walking  in  the  earth,  they  know  him  at  sight.  Effect 
ual  service  iu  his  own  legitimate  fashion  distinguishes 
the  true  man.  For  he  is  to  know  that  the  distinction 
of  a  royal  nature  is  a  great  heart  ;  that  not  Louis  Qua- 
torze,  not  Chesterfield,  nor  Byron,  nor  Bonaparte  is  the 
model  of  the  Century,  but,  wherever  found,  the  old  re 
nown  attaches  to  the  virtues  of  simple  faith  and  staunch 
endurance  and  clear  perception  and  plain  speech,  and 
that  there  is  a  master  grace  and  dignity  communicated 
by  exalted  sentiments  to  a  human  form,  to  which  utility 
and  even  genius  must  do  homage.  And  it  is  the  sign 
and  badge  of  this  nobility,  the  drawing  his  counsel 
from  his  own  breast.  For  to  every  gentleman,  grave 
and  dangerous  duties  are  proposed.  Justice  always 
wants  champions.  The  world  waits  for  him  as  its  de 
fender,  for  he  will  find  in  the  well-dressed  crowd,  yes, 
in  the  civility  of  whole  nations,  vulgarity  of  sentiment. 
In  the  best  parlors  of  modern  society  he  will  find  the 
laughing  devil,  the  civil  sneer  ;  in  English  palaces  the 
London  twist,  derision,  coldness,  contempt  of  the  masses, 
contempt  of  Ireland,  dislike  of  the  Chartist.  The  Eng 
lish  House  of  Commons  is  the  proudest  assembly  of 
gentlemen  in  the  world,  yet  the  genius  of  the  House 
of  Commons,  its  legitimate  expression,  is  a  sneer.  In 
America  he  shall  find  depreciation  of  purism  on  all 


54  ARISTOCRACY. 

questions  touching  the  morals  of  trade  and  of  social 
customs,  and  the  narrowest  contraction  of  ethics  to  the 
one  duty  of  paying  money.  Pay  that,  and  you  may 
play  the  tyrant  at  discretion  and  never  look  back  to  the 
fatal  question,  —  where  had  you  the  money  that  you 
paid? 

I  know  the  difficulties  in  the  way  of  the  man  of 
honor.  The  man  of  honor  is  a  man  of  taste  and  hu 
manity.  By  tendency,  like  all  magnanimous  men,  he 
is  a  democrat.  But  the  revolution  comes,  and  does  he 
join  the  standard  of  Chartist  and  outlaw  ?  No,  for 
these  have  been  dragged  in  their  ignorance  by  furious 
chiefs  to  the  Red  Revolution  ;  they  are  full  of  murder, 
and  the  student  recoils,  —  and  joins  the  rich.  If  he  can 
not  vote  with  the  poor,  he  should  stay  by  himself.  Let 
him  accept  the  position  of  armed  neutrality,  abhorring 
the  crimes  of  the  Chartist,  abhorring  the  selfishness  of 
the  rich,  and  say,  '  The  time  will  come  when  these  poor 
enfans  perdus  of  revolution  will  have  instructed  their 
party,  if  only  by  their  fate,  and  wiser  counsels  will  pre 
vail  ;  the  music  and  the  dance  of  liberty  will  come  up 
to  bright  and  holy  ground  and  will  take  me  in  also. 
Then  I  shall  not  have  forfeited  my  right  to  speak  and 
act  for  mankind.'  Meantime  shame  to  the  fop  of  learn 
ing  and  philosophy  who  suffers  a  vulgarity  of  speech 
and  habit  to  blind  him  to  the  grosser  vulgarity  of  piti 
less  selfishness,  and  to  hide  from  him  the  current  of 
Tendency  ;  who  abandons  his  right  position  of  being 
priest  and  poet  of  these  impious  and  unpoetic  doers  of 
God's  work.  You  must,  for  wisdom,  for  sanity,  have 
some  access  to  the  mind  and  heart  of  the  common  hu 
manity.  The  exclusive  excludes  himself.  No  great 
man  has  existed  who  did  not  rely  on  the  sense  and 


ARISTOCRACY.  55 

heart  of  mankind  as  represented  by  the  good  sense  of 
the  people,  as  correcting  the  modes  and  over-refine 
ments  and  class-prejudices  of  the  lettered  men  of  the 
world. 

There  are  certain  conditions  in  the  highest  degree 
favorable  to  the  tranquillity  of  spirit  and  to  that  magna 
nimity  we  so  prize.  And  mainly  the  habit  of  consid 
ering  large  interests,  and  things  in  masses,  and  not  too 
much  in  detail.  The  habit  of  directing  large  affairs 
generates  a  nobility  of  thought  in  every  mind  of  aver 
age  ability.  For  affairs  themselves  show  the  way  in 
which  they  should  be  handled  ;  and  a  good  head  soon 
grows  wise,  and  does  not  govern  too  much. 

Now  I  believe  in  the  closest  affinity  between  moral 
and  material  power.  Virtue  and  genius  are  always  on 
the  direct  way  to  the  control  of  the  society  in  which 
they  are  found.  It  is  the  interest  of  society  that  good 
men  should  govern,  and  there  is  always  a  tendency  so 
to  place  them.  But,  for  the  day  that  now  is,  a  man  of 
generous  spirit  will  not  need  to  administer  public  of 
fices  or  to  direct  large  interests  of  trade,  or  war,  or 
politics,  or  manufacture,  but  he  will  use  a  high  pru 
dence  in  the  conduct  of  life  to  guard  himself  from  be 
ing  dissipated  on  many  things.  There  is  no  need  that 
he  should  count  the  pounds  of  property  or  the  numbers 
of  agents  whom  his  influence  touches  ;  it  suffices  that  his 
aims  are  high,  that  the  interest  of  intellectual  and  moral 
beings  is  paramount  with  him,  that  he  comes  into  what 
is  called  fine  society  from  higher  ground,  and  he  has  an 
elevation  of  habit  which  ministers  of  empires  will  be 
forced  to  see  and  to  remember. 

I  do  not  know  whether  that  word  Gentleman,  al 
though  it  signifies  a  leading  idea  in  recent  civilization, 


56  ARISTOCRACY. 

is  a  sufficiently  broad  generalization  to  convey  the  deep 
and  grave  fact  of  self-reliance.  To  many  the  word  ex 
presses  only  the  outsides  of  cultivated  men,  —  only 
graceful  manners,  and  independence  in  trifles  ;  but  the 
fountains  of  that  thought  are  in  the  deeps  of  man,  a 
beauty  which  reaches  through  and  through,  from  the 
manners  to  the  soul  ;  an  honor  which  is  only  a  name 
for  sanctity,  a  self-trust  which  is  a  trust  in  God  him 
self.  Call  it  man  of  honor,  or  call  it  Man,  the  Ameri 
can  who  would  serve  his  country  must  learn  the  beauty 
and  honor  of  perseverance  ;  he  must  reinforce  himself 
by  the  power  of  character,  and  revisit  the  margin  of 
that  well  from  which  his  fathers  drew  waters  of  life  and 
enthusiasm,  the  fountain  I  mean  of  the  moral  senti 
ments,  the  parent  fountain  from  which  this  goodly  Uni 
verse  flows  as  a  wave. 


PERPETUAL    FORCES. 


••  MORE  servants  wait  on  man 
Than  he  '11  take  notice  of." 

GEORGE  HERBERT: 


EVER  the  Rock  of  Ages  melts 

Into  the  mineral  air, 
To  be  the  quarry  whence  is  built 

Thought  and  its  mansions  fair* 


PERPETUAL  FORCES.1 


THE  hero  in  the  fairy  tales  has  a  servant  who  can  eat 
granite  rocks,  another  who  can  hear  the  grass  grow, 
and  a  third  who  can  run  a  hundred  leagues  in  half  an 
hour  ;  so  man  in  nature  is  surrounded  by  a  gang  of 
friendly  giants  who  can  accept  harder  stints  than  these, 
and  help  him  in  every  kind.  Each  by  itself  has  a  cer 
tain  omnipotence,  but  all,  like  contending  kings  and 
emperors,  in  the  presence  of  each  other,  are  antagon 
ized  and  kept  polite  and  own  the  balance  of  power. 

We  cannot  afford  to  miss  any  advantage.  Never 
was  any  man  too  strong  for  his  proper  work.  Art  is 
long,  and  life  short,  and  he  must  supply  this  dispropor 
tion  by  borrowing  and  applying  to  his  task  the  energies 
of  Nature.  Reinforce  his  self  -  respect ,  show  him  his 
means,  his  arsenal  of  forces,  physical,  metaphysical, 
immortal.  Show  him  the  riches  of  the  poor,  show  him 
what  mighty  allies  and  helpers  he  has.  And  though 
King  David  had  no  good  from  making  his  census  out 
of  vain-glory,  yet  I  find  it  wholesome  and  invigorating 
to  enumerate  the  resources  we  can  command,  to  look 
a  little  into  this  arsenal,  and  see  how  many  rounds  of 
ammunition,  what  muskets,  and  how  many  arms  better 
than  Springfield  muskets,  we  can  bring  to  bear. 

1  Reprinted  from  the  North  American  Review,  No.  125, 1877. 


60  PERPETUAL   FORCES. 

Go  out  of  doors  and  get  the  air.  Ah,  if  you  knew 
what  was  in  the  air.  See  what  your  robust  neighbor, 
who  never  feared  to  live  in  it,  has  got  from  it;  strength, 
cheerfulness,  power  to  convince,  heartiness  and  equality 
to  each  event. 

All  the  earths  are  burnt  metals.  One  half  the  avoir 
dupois  of  the  rocks  which  compose  the  solid  crust  of 
the  globe  consists  of  oxygen.  The  adamant  is  always 
passing  into  smoke  ;  the  marble  column,  the  brazen 
statue  burn  under  the  daylight,  and  would  soon  de 
compose  if  their  molecular  structure,  disturbed  by  the 
raging  sunlight,  were  not  restored  by  the  darkness  of 
the  night.  What  agencies  of  electricity,  gravity,  light, 
affinity  combine  to  make  every  plant  what  it  is,  and 
in  a  manner  so  quiet  that  the  presence  of  these  tre 
mendous  powers  is  not  ordinarily  suspected.  Faraday 
said,  "  A  grain  of  water  is  known  to  have  electric  rela 
tions  equivalent  to  a  very  powerful  flash  of  lightning." 
The  ripe  fruit  is  dropped  at  last  without  violence,  but 
the  lightning  fell  and  the  storm  raged,  and  strata  were 
deposited  and  uptorn  and  bent  back,  and  Chaos  moved 
from  beneath,  to  create  and  flavor  the  fruit  on  your 
table  to-day.  The  winds  and  the  rains  come  back  a 
thousand  and  a  thousand  times.  The  coal  on  your 
grate  gives  out  in  decomposing  to-day  exactly  the  same 
amount  of  light  and  heat  which  was  taken  from  the 
sunshine  in  its  formation  in  the  leaves  and  boughs  of 
the  antediluvian  tree. 

Take  up  a  spadeful  or  a  buck-load  of  loam  ;  who  can 
guess  what  it  holds  ?  But  a  gardener  knows  that  it  is 
full  of  peaches,  full  of  oranges,  and  he  drops  in  a  few 
seeds  by  way  of  keys  to  unlock  and  combine  its  virtues ; 
lets  it  lie  in  sun  and  rain,  and  by  and  by  it  has  lifted 
into  the  air  its  full  weight  in  golden  fruit. 


PERPETUAL  FORCES.  61 

The  earliest  hymns  of  the  world  were  hymns  to  these 
natural  forces.  The  Vedas  of  India,  which  have  a  date 
older  than  Homer,  are  hymns  to  the  winds,  to  the  clouds, 
and  to  fire.  They  all  have  certain  properties  which  ad 
here  to  them,  such  as  conservation,  persisting  to  be 
themselves,  impossibility  of  being  warped.  The  sun 
has  lost  no  beams,  the  earth  no  elements  ;  gravity  is  as 
adhesive,  heat  as  expansive,  light  as  joyful,  air  as  virtu 
ous,  water  as  medicinal  as  on  the  first  day.  *  There  is 
no  loss,  only  transference.  When  the  heat  is  less  here 
it  is  not  lost,  but  more  heat  is  there.  When  the  rain 
exceeds  on  the  coast,  there  is  drought  on  the  prairie. 
When  the  continent  sinks,  the  opposite  continent,  that 
is  to  say,  the  opposite  shore  of  the  ocean,  rises.  When 
life  is  less  here,  it  spawns  there. 

These  forces  are  in  an  ascending  series,  but  seem  to 
leave  no  room  for  the  individual ;  man  or  atom,  he  only 
shares  them.  ;  he  sails  the  way  these  irresistible  winds 
blow.  But  behind  all  these  are  finer  elements,  the 
sources  of  them,  and  much  more  rapid  and  strong  ;  a 
new  style  and  series,  the  spiritual.  Intellect  and  morals 
appear  only  the  material  forces  on  a  higher  plane.  The 
laws  of  material  nature  run  up  into  the  invisible  world 
of  the  mind,  and  hereby  we  acquire  a  key  to  those  sub 
limities  which  skulk  and  hide  in  the  caverns  of  human 
consciousness.  And  in  the  impenetrable  mystery  which 
hides  —  and  hides  through  absolute  transparency  —  the 
mental  nature,  I  await  the  insight  which  our  advancing 
knowledge  of  the  material  laws  shall  furnish. 

But  the  laws  of  force  apply  to  every  form  of  it.  The 
husbandry  learned  in  the  economy  of  heat  or  light  02 
steam  or  muscular  fibre  applies  precisely  to  the  use  of 
wit.  What  I  have  said  of  the  inexorable  persistence 


62  PERPETUAL   FORCES. 

of  every  elemental  force  to  remain  itself,  the  impossi 
bility  of  tampering  with  it  or  warping  it,  —  the  same 
rule  applies  again  strictly  to  this  force  of  intellect  ; 
that  it  is  perception,  a  seeing,  not  making,  thoughts. 
The  man  must  bend  to  the  law,  never  the  law  to  him. 
The  brain  of  man  has  methods  and  arrangements  cor 
responding  to  these  material  powers,  by  which  he  can 
use  them.  See  how  trivial  b  the  use  of  the  world  by 
any  othcAf  its  creatures.  Whilst  these  forces  act  on 
us  from  the  outside  and  we  are  not  in  their  counsel,  we 
call  them  Fate.  The  animal  instincts  guide  the  animal 
as  gravity  governs  the  stone,  and  in  man  that  bias  or 
direction  of  his  constitution  is  often  as  tyrannical  as 
gravity.  We  call  it  temperament,  and  it  seems  to  be 
the  remains  of  wolf,  ape  and  rattlesnake  in  him.  While 
the  reason  is  yet  dormant,  this  rules;  as  the  reflective 
faculties  open,  this  subsides.  We  come  to  reason  and 
knowledge ;  we  see  the  causes  of  evils  and  learn  to  parry 
them  and  use  them  as  instruments,  by  knowledge,  being 
inside  of  them  and  dealing  with  them  as  the  Creator 
does.  It  iz  curious  to  see  how  a  creature  so  feeble  and 
vulnerable  as  a  man,  who,  unarmed,  is  no  match  for  the 
wild  beasts,  tiger,  or  crocodile,  none  for  the  frost,  none 
for  the  sea,  none  for  a  fog,  or  a  damp  air,  or  the  feeble 
fork  of  a  poor  worm,  —  each  of  a  thousand  petty  ac 
cidents  puts  him  to  death  every  day,  —  is  yet  able  to 
subdue  to  his  will  these  terrific  forces,  and  more  than 
these.  His  whole  frame  is  responsive  to  the  world,  part 
for  part,  every  sense,  every  pore  to  a  new  element,  so 
that  he  seems  to  have  as  many  talents  as  there  are 
qualities  in  nature.  No  force  but  is  his  force.  He  does 
not  possess  them,  he  is  a  pipe  through  which  their  cur 
rents  flow.  If  a  straw  be  held  still  in  the  direction  of 


PERPETUAL   FORCES.  63 

the  ocean-current,  the  sea  will  pour  through  it  as 
through  Gibraltar.  If  he  should  measure  strength  with 
them,  ir  he  should  fight  the  sea  and  the  whirlwind  with 
his  ship,  he  would  snap  his  spars,  tear  his  sails,  and 
swamp  his  bark;  but  by  cunningly  dividing  the  force, 
tapping  the  tempest  for  a  little  side-wind,  he  uses  the 
monsters,  and  they  carry  him  where  he  would  go.  Look 
at  him;  you  can  give  no  guess  at  what  power  is  in  him. 
It  never  appears  directly,  but  follow  him  and  see  his 
effects,  see  his  productions.  He  is  a  planter,  a  miner, 
a  shipbuilder,  a  machinist,  a  musician,  a  steam-engine,  a 
geometer,  an  astronomer,  a  persuader  of  men,  a  law 
giver,  a  builder  of  towns ;  —  and  each  of  these  by  dint 
of  a  wonderful  method  or  series  that  resides  in  him  and 
enables  him  to  work  on  the  material  elements. 

We  are  surrounded  by  human  thought  and  labor. 
Where  are  the  farmer's  days  gone?  See,  they  are  hid 
in  that  stone-wall,  in  that  excavated  trench,  in  the  har 
vest  grown  on  what  was  shingle  and  pine-barren.  He 
put  his  days  into  carting  from  the  distant  swamp  the 
mountain  of  muck  which  has  been  trundled  about  until 
it  now  makes  the  cover  of  fruitful  soil.  Labor  hides  it 
self  in  every  mode  and  form.  It  is  massed  and  blocked 
away  in  that  stone  house,  for  five  hundred  years.  It  is 
twisted  and  screwed  into  fragrant  hay  which  fills  the 
barn.  It  surprises  in  the  perfect  form  and  condition  of 
trees  clean  of  caterpillars  and  borers,  rightly  pruned, 
and  loaded  with  grafted  fruit.  It  is  under  the  house  in 
the  well;  it  is  over  the  house  in  slates  and  copper  and 
water-spout;  it  grows  in  the  corn;  it  delights  us  in  the 
flower-bed ;  it  keeps  the  cow  out  of  the  garden,  the  rain 
out  of  the  library,  the  miasma  out  of  the  town.  It  is  in 
dress,  in  pictures,  in  ships,  in  cannon;  in  every  spec- 


64  PERPETUAL   FORCES. 

tacle,  in  odors,  in  flavors,  in  sweet  sounds,  in  works  of 
safety,  of  delight,  of  wrath,  of  science. 

The  thoughts,  no  man  ever  saw,  but  disorder  becomes 
order  where  he  goes;  weakness  becomes  power;  sur 
prising  and  admirable  effects  follow  him  like  a  creator. 
All  forces  are  his;  as  the  wise  merchant  by  truth  in  his 
dealings  finds  his  credit  unlimited,  —  he  can  use  in  turn, 
as  he  wants  it,  all  the  property  in  the  world,  —  so  a  man 
draws  on  all  the  air  for  his  occasions,  as  if  there  were  no 
other  breather;  or  all  the  water  as  if  there  were  no 
other  sailor;  he  is  warmed  by  the  sun,  and  so  of  every 
element;  he  walks  and  works  by  the  aid  of  gravitation; 
he  draws  on  all  knowledge  as  his  province,  on  all  beauty 
for  his  innocent  delight,  and  first  or  last  he  exhausts  by 
his  use  all  the  harvests,  all  the  powers  of  the  world. 
For  man,  the  receiver  of  all,  and  depositary  of  these 
volumes  of  power,  I  am  to  say  that  his  ability  and  per 
formance  are  according  to  his  reception  of  these  various 
streams  of  force.  We  define  Genius  to  be  a  sensibility 
to  all  the  impressions  of  the  outer  world,  a  sensibility  so 
equal  that  it  receives  accurately  ail  impressions,  and 
can  truly  report  them,  without  excess  or  loss,  as  it  re 
ceived.  It  must  not  only  receive  all,  but  it  must  render 
all.  And  the  health  of  man  is  an  equality  of  inlet  and 
outlet,  gathering  and  giving.  Any  hoarding  is  tumor 
and  disease. 

If  we  were  truly  to  take  account  of  stock  before 
the  last  Court  of  Appeals,  —  that  were  an  inventory  ! 
What  are  my  resources  ?  "  Our  stock  in  life,  our  real 
estate,  is  that  amount  of  thought  which  we  have  had," 
— and  which  we  have  applied,  and  so  domesticated. 
The  ground  we  have  thus  created  is  forever  a  fund  for 
new  thoughts.  A  few  moral  maxims  confirmed  by 


PERPETUAL   FORCES.  65 

much  experience  would  stand  high  on  the  list,  constitut 
ing  a  supreme  prudence.  Then  the  knowledge  unut 
terable  of  our  private  strength,  of  where  it  lies,  of  its 
accesses  and  facilitations,  and  of  its  obstructions.  My 
conviction  of  principles,  —  that  is  great  part  of  my  pos 
sessions.  Certain  thoughts,  certain  observations,  long 
familiar  to  me  in  night-watches  and  daylights,  would 
be  my  capital  if  I  removed  to  Spain  or  China,  or,  by 
stranger  translation,  to  the  planet  Jupiter  or  Mars,  or 
to  new  spiritual  societies.  Every  valuable  person  who 
joins  in  an  enterprise,  —  is  it  a  piece  of  industry,  or 
the  founding  of  a  colony  or  a  college,  the  reform  of 
some  public  abuse,  or  some  effort  of  patriotism,  —  what 
he  chiefly  brings,  all  he  brings,  is  not  his  land  or  his 
money  or  body's  strength,  but  his  thoughts,  his  way  of 
classifying  and  seeing  things,  his  method.  And  thus 
with  every  one  a  new  power.  In  proportion  to  the 
depth  of  the  insight  is  the  power  and  reach  of  the  king 
dom  he  controls. 

It  would  be  easy  to  awake  wonder  by  sketching  the 
performance  of  each  of  these  mental  forces:  as  of  the 
diving-bell  of  the  Memory,  which  descends  into  the 
deeps  of  our  past  and  oldest  experience  and  brings  up 
every  lost  jewel;  or  of  the  Fancy,  which  sends  its  gay 
balloon  aloft  into  the  sky  to  catch  every  tint  and  gleam 
of  romance ;  of  the  Imagination,  which  turns  every  dull 
fact  into  pictures  and  poetry,  by  making  it  an  emblem 
of  thought.  What  a  power,  when,  combined  with  the 
analyzing  understanding,  it  makes  Eloquence;  the  art 
of  compelling  belief,  the  art  of  making  peoples'  hearts 
dance  to  his  pipe !  And  not  less,  method,  patience,  self- 
trust,  perseverance,  love,  desire  of  knowledge,  the  pas 
sion  for  truth.  These  are  the  angels  that  take  us  by 
5 


66  PERPETUAL   FORCES. 

the  hand,  these  our  immortal,  invulnerable  guardians. 
By  their  strength  we  are  strong,  and  on  the  signal 
occasions  in  our  career  their  inspirations  flow  to  us  and 
make  the  selfish  and  protected  and  tenderly-bred  person 
strong  for  his  duty,  wise  in  counsel,  skilful  in  action, 
competent  to  rule,  willing  to  obey. 

I  delight  in  tracing  these  wonderful  powers,  the  elec 
tricity  and  gravity  of  the  human  world.  The  power  of 
persistence,  of  enduring  defeat  and  of  gaining  victory 
by  defeats,  is  one  of  these  forces  which  never  loses  its 
charm.  The  power  of  a  man  increases  steadily  by  con 
tinuance  in  one  direction.  He  becomes  acquainted  with 
the  resistances  and  with  his  own  tools;  increases  his 
skill  and  strength  and  learns  the  favorable  moments 
and  favorable  accidents.  He  is  his  own  apprentice,  and 
more  time  gives  a  great  addition  of  power,  just  as  a 
falling  body  acquires  momentum  with  every  foot  of  the 
fall.  How  we  prize  a  good  contiuuer!  I  knew  a  manu 
facturer  who  found  his  property  invested  in  chemical 
works  which  were  depreciating  in  value.  He  under 
took  the  charge  of  them  himself,  began  at  the  begin 
ning,  learned  chemistry  and  acquainted  himself  with  all 
the  conditions  of  the  manufacture.  His  friends  dis 
suaded  him,  advised  him  to  give  up  the  work,  which 
was  not  suited  to  the  country.  Why  throw  good  money 
after  bad?  But  he  persisted,  and  after  many  years  suc 
ceeded  in  his  production  of  the  right  article  for  com 
merce,  brought  up  the  stock  of  his  mills  to  par,  and 
then  sold  out  his  interest,  having  accomplished  the  re 
form  that  was  required. 

In  each  the  talent  is  the  perception  of  an  order  and 
series  in  the  department  he  deals  with,  —  of  an  order 
and  series  which  pre-existed  in  nature,  and  which  this 


PERPETUAL    FORCES.  67 

mind  sees  and  conforms  to.  The  geometer  shows  us 
the  true  order  in  figures  ;  the  painter  in  laws  of  color  ; 
the  dancer  in  grace.  Bonaparte,  with  his  celerity  of 
combination,  mute,  unfathomable,  reads  the  geography 
of  Europe  as  if  his  eyes  were  telescopes  ;  his  will  is 
an  immense  battery  discharging  irresistible  volleys  of 
power  always  at  the  right  point  in  the  right  time. 

There  was  a  story  in  the  journals  of  a  poor  prisoner 
in  a  Western  police-court  who  was  told  he  might  be  re 
leased  if  he  would  pay  his  fine.  He  had  no  money,  he 
had  no  friends,  but  he  took  his  flute  out  of  his  pocket 
and  began  to  play,  to  the  surprise,  and,  as  it  proved,  to 
the  delight  of  all  the  company  ;  the  jurors  waked  up, 
the  sheriff  forgot  his  duty,  the  judge  himself  beat  time, 
and  the  prisoner  was  by  general  consent  of  court  and 
officers  allowed  to  go  his  way  without  any  money.  And 
I  suppose,  if  he  could  have  played  loud  enough,  we  here 
should  have  beat  time,  and  the  whole  population  of  the 
globe  would  beat  time,  and  consent  that  he  should  go 
without  his  fine. 

I  knew  a  stupid  young  farmer,  churlish,  living  only 
for  his  gains,  and  with  whom  the  only  intercourse  you 
could  have  was  to  buy  what  he  had  to  sell.  One  day  I 
found  his  little  boy  of  four  years  dragging  about  after 
him  the  prettiest  little  wooden  cart,  so  neatly  built,  and 
with  decorations  too,  and  learned  that  Papa  had  made 
it  ;  that  hidden  deep  in  that  thick  skull  was  this  gentle 
art  and  taste  which  the  little  fingers  and  caresses  of  his 
son  had  the  power  to  draw  out  into  day  ;  he  was  no 
peasant  after  all.  So  near  to  us  is  the  flowering  of  Fine 
Art  in  the  rudest  population.  See  in  a  circle  of  school 
girls  one  with  no  beauty,  no  special  vivacity,  —  but  she 
can  so  recite  her  adventures  that  she  is  never  alone,  but 


68  PERPETUAL   FORCES. 

at  night  or  at  morning  wherever  she  sits  the  inevitable 
circle  gathers  around  her,  willing  prisoners  of  that  won 
derful  memory  and  fancy  and  spirit  of  life.  Would  you 
know  where  to  find  her  ?  Listen  for  the  laughter,  fol 
low  the  cheerful  hum,  see  where  is  the  rapt  attention, 
and  a  pretty  crowd  all  bright  with  one  electricity;  there 
in  the  centre  of  fellowship  and  joy  is  Scheherazade 
again. 

See  how  rich  life  is  ;  rich  in  private  talents,  each  of 
which  charms  us  in  turn  and  seems  the  best.  If  we 
hear  music  we  give  up  all  to  that  ;  if  we  fall  in  with  a 
cricket-club  and  see  the  game  masterly  played,  the  best 
player  is  the  first  of  men  ;  if  we  go  to  the  regatta,  we 
forget  the  bowler  for  the  stroke  oar  ;  and  when  the  sol 
dier  comes  home  from  the  fight,  he  fills  all  eyes.  But 
the  soldier  has  the  same  admiration  of  the  great  par 
liamentary  debater.  And  poetry  and  literature  are 
disdainful  of  all  these  claims  beside  their  own.  Like 
the  boy  who  thought  in  turn  each  one  of  the  four  sea 
sons  the  best,  and  each  of  the  three  hundred  and  sixty- 
five  days  in  the  year  the  crowner.  The  sensibility  is 
all. 

Every  one  knows  what  are  the  effects  of  music  to 
put  people  in  gay  or  mournful  or  martial  mood.  But 
these  are  the  effects  on  dull  subjects,  and  only  the  hint 
of  its  power  on  a  keener  sense.  It  is  a  stroke  on  a 
loose  or  tense  cord.  The  story  of  Orpheus,  of  Arion, 
of  the  Arabian  minstrel,  are  not  fables,  but  experiments 
on  the  same  iron  at  white  heat. 

By  this  wondrous  susceptibility  to  all  the  impressions 
of  Nature  the  man  finds  himself  the  receptacle  of  celes 
tial  thoughts,  of  happy  relations  to  all  men.  The  im 
agination  enriches  him,  as  if  there  were  no  other  ;  the 


PERPETUAL   FORCES.  69 

memory  opens  all  her  cabinets  and  archives  ;  Science 
her  length  and  breadth  ;  Poetry  her  splendor  and  joy 
and  the  august  circles  of  eternal  law.  These  are  means 
and  stairs  for  new  ascensions  of  the  mind.  But  they 
are  nowise  impoverished  for  any  other  mind,  not  tar 
nished,  not  breathed  upon  ;  for  the  mighty  Intellect 
did  not  stoop  to  him  and  become  property,  but  he  rose 
to  it  and  followed  its  circuits.  "  It  is  ours  while  we 
use  it,  it  is  not  ours  when  we  do  not  use  it." 

And  so,  one  step  higher,  when  he  comes  into  the 
realm  of  sentiment  and  will.  He  sees  the  grandeur  of 
justice,  the  victory  of  love,  the  eternity  that  belongs  to 
all  moral  nature.  He  does  not  then  invent  his  senti 
ment  or  his  act,  but  obeys  a  pre-existing  right  which  he 
sees.  We  arrive  at  virtue  by  taking  its  direction  in 
stead  of  imposing  ours. 

The  last  revelation  of  intellect  and  of  sentiment  is 
that  in  a  manner  it  severs  the  man  from  all  other  men  ; 
makes  known  to  him  that  the  spiritual  powers  are  suffi 
cient  to  him  if  no  other  being  existed  ;  that  he  is  to  deal 
absolutely  in  the  world,  as  if  he  alone  were  a  system 
and  a  state,  and  though  all  should  perish  could  make  all 
anew. 

The  forces  are  infinite.  Every  one  has  the  might  of 
all,  for  the  secret  of  the  world  is  that  its  energies  are 
solidaires  ;  that  they  work  together  on  a  system  of  mu 
tual  aid,  all  for  each  and  each  for  all  ;  that  the  strain 
made  on  one  point  bears  on  every  arch  and  foundation 
of  the  structure.  But  if  you  wish  to  avail  yourself  of 
their  might,  and  in  like  manner  if  you  wish  the  force  of 
the  intellect,  the  force  of  the  will,  you  must  take  their 
divine  direction,  not  they  yours.  Obedience  alone  gives 
the  right  to  command.  It  is  like  the  village  operator 


70  PERPETUAL    FORCES. 

who  taps  the  telegraph-wire  and  surprises  the  secrets 
of  empires  as  they  pass  to  the  capital.  So  this  child  of 
the  dust  throws  himself  by  obedience  into  the  circuit  of 
the  heavenly  wisdom,  and  shares  the  secret  of  God. 

Thus  is  the  world  delivered  into  your  hand,  but  on 
two  conditions,  —  not  for  property,  but  for  use,  use  ac 
cording  to  the  noble  nature  of  the  gifts  ;  and  not  for 
toys,  not  for  self-indulgence.  Things  work  to  their 
ends,  not  to  yours,  and  will  certainly  defeat  any  adven 
turer  who  fights  against  this  ordination. 

The  effort  of  men  is  to  use  them  for  private  ends. 
They  wish  to  pocket  land  and  water  and  fire  and  air 
and  all  fruits  of  these,  for  property,  and  would  like  to 
have  Aladdin's  lamp  to  compel  darkness,  and  iron- 
bound  doors,  and  hostile  armies,  and  lions  and  serpents 
to  serve  them  like  footmen.  And  they  wish  the  same 
service  from  the  spiritual  faculties.  A  man  has  a  rare 
mathematical  talent,  inviting  him  to  the  beautiful  se 
crets  of  geometry,  and  wishes  to  clap  a  patent  on  it  ;  or 
has  the  fancy  and  invention  of  a  poet,  and  says,  '  I  will 
write  a  play  that  shall  be  repeated  in  London  a  hun 
dred  nights  ; '  or  a  military  genius,  and  instead  of  using 
that  to  defend  his  country,  he  says, '  I  will  fight  the 
battle  so  as  to  give  me  place  and  political  considera 
tion  ; '  or  Canning  or  Thurlow  has  a  genius  of  debate, 
and  says,  '  I  will  know  how  with  this  weapon  to  defend 
the  cause  that  will  pay  best  and  make  me  Chancellor  or 
Foreign  Secretary.'  But  this  perversion  is  punished 
with  instant  loss  of  true  wisdom  and  real  power. 

I  find  the  survey  of  these  cosmical  powers  a  doctrine 
of  consolation  in  the  dark  hours  of  private  or  public  for 
tune.  It  shows  us  the  world  alive,  guided,  incorrupti 
ble  ;  that  its  cannon  cannot  be  stolen  nor  its  virtues 


PERPETUAL   FORCES.  71 

misapplied.  It  shows  us  the  long  Providence,  the  safe 
guards  of  rectitude.  It  animates  exertion  ;  it  warns  us 
out  of  that  despair  into  which  Saxon  men  are  prone  to 
fall,  —  out  of  an  idolatry  of  forms,  instead  of  working 
to  simple  ends,  in  the  belief  that  Heaven  always  succors 
us  in  working  for  these.  This  world  belongs  to  the  en 
ergetical.  It  is  a  fagot  of  laws,  and  a  true  analysis  of 
these  laws,  showing  how  immortal  and  self-protecting 
they  are,  would  be  a  wholesome  lesson  for  every  time 
and  for  this  time.  That  band  which  ties  them  together 
is  unity,  is  universal  good,  saturating  all  with  one  being 
and  aim,  so  that  each  translates  the  other,  is  only  the 
same  spirit  applied  to  new  departments.  Things  are 
saturated  with  the  moral  law.  There  is  no  escape  from 
it.  Violets  and  grass  preach  it ;  rain  and  snow,  wind 
and  tides,  every  change,  every  cause  in  Nature  is  noth 
ing  but  a  disguised  missionary. 

All  our  political  disasters  grow  as  logically  out  of 
our  attempts  in  the  past  to  do  without  justice,  as  the 
sinking  of  some  part  of  your  house  comes  of  defect  in 
the  foundation.  One  thing  is  plain  ;  a  certain  personal 
virtue  is  essential  to  freedom ;  and  it  begins  to  be  doubt 
ful  whether  our  corruption  in  this  country  has  not  gone 
a  little  over  the  mark  of  safety,  so  that  when  canvassed 
we  shall  be  found  to  be  made  up  of  a  majority  of  reck 
less  self-seekers.  The  divine  knowledge  has  ebbed  out 
of  us  and  we  do  not  know  enough  to  be  free. 

I  hope  better  of  the  state.  Half  a  man's  wisdom 
goes  with  his  courage.  A  boy  who  knows  that  a  bully 
lives  round  the  corner  which  he  must  pass  on  his  daily 
way  to  school,  is  apt  to  take  sinister  views  of  streets 
and  of  school-education.  And  a  sensitive  politician  suf 
fers  his  ideas  of  the  part  New  York  or  Pennsylvania  or 


72  PERPETUAL   FORCES. 

Ohio  are  to  play  in  the  future  of  the  Union,  to  be  fash 
ioned  by  the  election  of  rogues  in  some  counties.  But 
we  must  not  gratify  the  rogues  so  deeply.  There  is  a 
speedy  limit  to  profligate  politics. 

Fear  disenchants  life  and  the  world.  If  I  have  not 
my  own  respect  I  am  an  impostor,  not  entitled  to  other 
men's,  and  had  better  creep  into  my  grave.  I  admire 
the  sentiment  of  Thoreau,  who  said,  "  Nothing  is  so 
much  to  be  feared  as  fear  ;  God  himself  likes  atheism 
better."  For  the  world  is  a  battle-ground  ;  every  prin 
ciple  is  a  war-note,  and  the  most  quiet  and  protected 
life  is  at  any  moment  exposed  to  incidents  which  test 
your  firmness.  The  illusion  tliat  strikes  me  as  the  mas 
terpiece  in  that  ring  of  illusions  which  our  life  is,  is  the 
timidity  with  which  we  assert  our  moral  sentiment.  We 
are  made  of  it,  the  world  is  built  by  it,  tilings  endure  as 
they  share  it ;  all  beauty,  all  health,  all  intelligence  ex 
ist  by  it ;  yet  we  shrink  to  speak  of  it  or  to  range  our 
selves  by  its  side.  Nay,  we  presume  strength  of  him 
or  them  who  deny  it.  Cities  go  against  it ;  the  college 
goes  against  it,  the  courts  snatch  at  any  precedent,  at 
any  vicious  form  of  law  to  rule  it  out  ;  legislatures  lis 
ten  with  appetite  to  declamations  against  it,  and  vote  it 
down.  Every  new  asserter  of  the  right  surprises  us, 
like  a  man  joining  the  church,  and  we  hardly  dare  be 
lieve  he  is  in  earnest. 

What  we  do  and  suffer  is  in  moments,  but  the  cause 
of  right  for  which  we  labor  never  dies,  works  in  long 
periods,  can  afford  many  checks,  gains  by  our  defeats, 
and  will  know  how  to  compensate  our  extremest  sacri 
fice.  Wrath  and  petulance  may  have  their  short  suc 
cess,  but  they  quickly  reach  their  brief  date  and  decom 
pose,  whilst  the  massive  might  of  ideas  is  irresistible  at 


PERPETUAL   FORCES.  73 

last.  Whence  does  the  knowledge  come  ?  Where  is 
the  source  of  power  ?  The  soul  of  God  is  poured  into 
the  world  through  the  thoughts  of  men.  The  world 
stands  on  ideas,  and  not  on  iron  or  cotton  ;  and  the  iron 
of  iron,  the  fire  of  fire,  the  ether  and  source  of  all  the 
elements  is  moral  force.  As  cloud  on  cloud,  as  snow  on 
snow,  as  the  bird  on  the  air,  and  the  planet  on  space  in 
its  flight,  so  do  nations  of  men  and  their  institutions  rest 
on  thoughts. 


CHARACTER. 


SHUN  passion,  fold  the  hands  of  thrift, 

Sit  still,  and  Truth  is  near  ; 

Suddenly  it  will  uplift 

Your  eyelids  to  the  sphere  : 
Wait  a  little,  you  shall  see 
The  portraiture  of  things  to  be. 


FOR  what  need  I  of  book  or  priest 
Or  Sibyl  from  the  mummied  East 
When  every  star  is  Bethlehem  Star,  • 
I  count  as  many  as  there  are 
Cinquefoils  or  violets  in  the  grass, 
So  many  saints  and  saviours, 
So  many  high  behaviours. 


CHARACTER.1 


MORALS  respects  what  men  call  goodness,  that  which 
all  men  agree  to  honor  as  justice,  truth-speaking,  good 
will  and  good  works.  Morals  respects  the  source  or 
motive  of  this  action.  It  is  the  science  of  substances, 
not  of  shows.  It  is  the  what,  and  not  the  how.  It  is 
that  which  all  men  profess  to  regard,  and  by  their  real 
respect  for  which  recommend  themselves  to  each  other. 

There  is  this  eternal  advantage  to  morals,  that,  in  the 
question  between  truth  and  goodness,  the  moral  cause 
of  the  world  lies  behind  all  else  in  the  mind.  It  was 
for  good,  it  is  to  good,  that  all  works.  Surely  it  is  not 
to  prove  or  show  the  truth  of  tilings,  —  that  sounds  a 
little  cold  and  scholastic,  —  no,  it  is  for  benefit,  that  all 
subsists.  As  we  say  in  our  modern  politics,  catching  at 
last  the  language  of  morals,  that  the  object  of  the  State 
is  the  greatest  good  of  the  greatest  number,  —  so,  the 
reason  we  must  give  for  the  existence  of  the  world  is, 
that  it  is  for  the  benefit  of  all  being. 

Morals  implies  freedom  and  will.  The  will  consti 
tutes  the  man.  He  has  his  life  in  Nature,  like  a  beast : 
but  choice  is  born  in  him  ;  here  is  he  that  chooses  ;  here 
is  the  Declaration  of  Independence,  the  July  Fourth  of 
1  Reprinted  from  the  North  American  Review  of  April,  1866. 


78  CHARACTER. 

zoology  and  astronomy.  He  chooses,  —  as  the  rest  of 
the  creation  does  not.  But  will,  pure  and  perceiving,  is 
not  wilfulness.  When  a  man,  through  stubbornness,  in 
sists  to  do  this  or  that,  something  absurd  or  whimsical, 
only  because  he  will,  he  is  weak  ;  he  blows  with  his  lips 
against  the  tempest,  he  dams  the  incoming  ocean  with 
his  cane.  It  were  an  unspeakable  calamity  if  any  one 
should  think  he  had  the  right  to  impose  a  private  will 
on  others.  That  is  the  part  of  a  striker,  an  assassin. 
All  violence,  all  that  is  dreary  and  rebels,  is  not  power 
but  the  absence  of  power. 

Morals  is  the  direction  of  the  will  on  universal  ends. 
He  is  immoral  who  is  acting  to  any  private  end.  He  is 
moral,  —  we  say  it  with  Marcus  Aurelius  and  with  Kant, 
—  whose  aim  or  motive  may  become  a  universal  rule, 
binding  on  all  intelligent  beings  ;  and  with  Vauvenar- 
gues,  "the  mercenary  sacrifice  of  the  public  good  to  a 
private  interest  is  the  eternal  stamp  of  vice." 

All  the  virtues  are  special  directions  of  this  motive  ; 
justice  is  the  application  of  this  good  of  the  whole  to 
the  affairs  of  each  one  ;  courage  is  contempt  of  danger 
in  the  determination  to  see  this  good  of  the  whole  en 
acted  ;  love  is  delight  in  the  preference  of  that  ben 
efit  redounding  to  another  over  the  securing  of  our  own 
share  ;  humility  is  a  sentiment  of  our  insignificance  when 
the  benefit  of  the  universe  is  considered. 

If  from  these  external  statements  we  seek  to  come  a 
little  nearer  to  the  fact,  our  first  experiences  in  moral 
as  in  intellectual  nature  force  us  to' discriminate  a  uni 
versal  mind,  identical  in  all  men.  Certain  biases,  tal 
ents,  executive  skills,  are  special  to  each  individual  ;  but 
the  high,  contemplative,  all  -  commanding  vision,  the 
sense  of  Right  and  Wrong,  is  alike  in  all.  Its  attri- 


CHARACTER.  79 

butes  are  self -existence,  eternity,  intuition  and  command. 
It  is  the  mind  of  the  mind.  We  belong  to  it,  not  it  to 
us.  It  is  in  all  men,  and  constitutes  them  men.  In  bad 
men  it  is  dormant,  as  health  is  in  men  entranced  or 
drunken  ;  but,  however  inoperative,  it  exists  underneath 
whatever  vices  and  errors.  The  extreme  simplicity  of 
this  intuition  embarrasses  every-  attempt  at  analysis. 
We  can  only  mark,  one  by  one,  the  perfections  which  it 
combines  in  every  act.  It  admits  of  no  appeal,  looks  to 
no  superior  essence.  It  is  the  reason  of  things. 

The  antagonist  nature  is  the  individual,  formed  into 
a  finite  body  of  exact  dimensions,  with  appetites  which 
take  from  everybody  else  what  they  appropriate  to 
themselves,  and  would  enlist  the  entire  spiritual  faculty 
of  the  individual,  if  it  were  possible,  in  catering  for 
them.  On  the  perpetual  conflict  between  the  dictate  of 
this  universal  mind  and  the  wishes  and  interests  of  the 
individual,  the  moral  discipline  of  life  is  built.  The  one 
craves  a  private  benefit,  which  the  other  requires  him 
to  renounce  out  of  respect  to  the  absolute  good.  Every 
hour  puts  the  individual  in  a  position  where  his  wishes 
aim  at  something  which  the  sentiment  of  duty  forbids 
him  to  seek.  He  that  speaks  the  truth  executes  no  pri 
vate  function  of  an  individual  will,  but  the  world  utters 
a  sound  by  his  lips.  He  who  doth  a  just  action  seeth 
therein  nothing  of  his  own,  but  an  inconceivable  noble 
ness  attaches  to  it,  because  it  is  a  dictate  of  the  general 
mind.  We  have  no  idea  of  power  so  simple  and  so  en 
tire  as  this.  It  is  the  basis  of  thought,  it  is  the  basis  of 
being.  Compare  all  that  we  call  ourselves,  all  our  pri 
vate  and  personal  venture  in  the  world,  with  this  deep 
of  moral  nature  in  which  we  lie,  and  our  private  good 
becomes  an  impertinence,  and  we  take  part  with  hasty 
shame  against  ourselves  :  -  — 


80  CHARACTER. 

"  High  instincts,  before  which  cur  mortal  nature 
Doth  tremble  like  a  guilty  thing  surprised,  — 
Which,  be  they  what  they  may, 
Are  yet  the  fountain-light  of  all  our  day, 
Are  yet  the  master-light  of  all  our  seeing,  — 
Uphold  us,  cherish,  and  have  power  to  make 
Our  noisy  years  seem  moments  in  the  being 
Of  the  eternal  silence,  — truths  that  wake 
To  perish  never." 

The  moral  element  invites  man  to  great  enlargements, 
to  find  his  satisfaction,  not  in  particulars  or  events,  but 
in  the  purpose  and  tendency  ;  not  in  bread,  but  in  his 
right  to  his  bread  ;  not  in  much  corn  or  wool,  but  in  its 
communication. 

Not  by  adding,  then,  does  the  moral  sentiment  help 
us  ;  no,  but  in  quite  another  manner.  It  puts  us  in 
place.  It  centres,  it  concentrates  us.  It  puts  us  at  the 
heart  of  Nature,  where  we  belong,  in  the  cabinet  of  sci 
ence  and  of  causes,  there  where  all  the  wires  terminate 
which  hold  the  world  in  magnetic  unity,  and  so  converts 
us  into  universal  beings. 

This  wonderful  sentiment,  which  endears  itself  as  it  is 
obeyed,  seems  to  be  the  fountain  of  intellect ;  for  no  tal 
ent  gives  the  impression  of  sanity,  if  wanting  this  ;  nay, 
it  absorbs  everything  into  itself.  Truth,  Power,  Good 
ness,  Beauty,  are  its  varied  names,  —  faces  of  one  sub 
stance,  the  heart  of  all.  Before  it,  what  are  persons, 
prophets,  or  seraphim  but  its  passing  agents,  momen 
tary  rays  of  its  light  ? 

The  moral  sentiment  is  alone  omnipotent.  There  is 
no  labor  or  sacrifice  to  which  it  will  not  bring  a  man, 
and  which  it  will  not  make  easy.  Thus  there  is  no  man 
who  will  bargain  to  sell  his  life,  say  at  the  end  of  a 
year,  for  a  million  or  ten  millions  of  gold  dollars  in 
hand,  or  for  any  temporary  pleasures,  or  for  any  rank, 


CHARACTER.  81 

as  of  peer  or  prince  ;  but  many  a  man  who  does  not  hes 
itate  to  lay  down  his  life  for  the  sake  of  a  truth,  or  in 
the  cause  of  his  country,  or  to  save  his  son  or  his  friend. 
And  under  the  action  of  this  sentiment  of  the  Right,  his 
heart  and  mind  expand  above  himself,  and  above  Nature. 

Though  Love  repine,  and  Reason  chafe, 
There  came  a  voice  without  reply,  — 
"  'T  is  man's  perdition  to  be  safe, 

When  for  the  truth  he  ought  to  die." 

Such  is  the  difference  of  the  action  of  the  heart  within 
and  of  the  senses  without.  One  is  enthusiasm,  and  the 
other  more  or  less  amounts  of  horse-power. 

Devout  men,  in  the  endeavor  to  express  their  convic 
tions,  have  used  different  images  to  suggest  this  latent 
force  ;  as,  the  light,  the  seed,  the  Spirit,  the  Holy  Ghost, 
the  Comforter,  the  Daemon,  the  still,  small  voice,  etc., 
—  all  indicating  its  power  and  its  latency.  It  is  se 
renely  above  all  mediation.  In  all  ages,  to  all  men,  it 
saith,  /  am  •  and  he  who  hears  it  feels  the  impiety  of 
wandering  from  this  revelation  to  any  record  or  to  any 
rival.  The  poor  Jews  of  the  wilderness  cried  :  "  Let  not 
the  Lord  speak  to  us  ;  let  Moses  speak  to  us."  But  the 
simple  and  sincere  soul  makes  the  contrary  prayer  : '  Let 
no  intruder  come  between  thee  and  me  ;  deal  THOU 
with  me  ;  let  me  know  it  is  thy  will,  and  I  ask  no  more.' 
The  excellence  of  Jesus,  and  of  every  true  teacher,  is, 
that  he  affirms  the  Divinity  in  him  and  in  us,  —  not 
thrusts  himself  between  it  and  us.  It  would  instantly 
indispose  us  to  any  person  claiming  to  speak  for  the  Au 
thor  of  Nature,  the  setting  forth  any  fact  or  law  which 
we  did  not  find  in  our  consciousness.  We  should  say 
with  Heraclitus  :  "  Come  into  this  smoky  cabin  ;  God  is 
here  also  :  approve  yourself  to  him." 
6 


82  CHARACTER. 

We  affirm  that  in  all  men  is  this  majestic  perception 
and  command  ;  that  it  is  the  presence  of  the  Eternal  in 
each  perishing  man  ;  that  it  distances  and  degrades  all 
statements  of  whatever  saints,  heroes,  poets,  as  obscure 
and  confused  stammerings  before  its  silent  revelation. 
They  report  the  truth.  It  is  the  truth.  When  I  think 
of  Reason,  of  Truth,  of  Virtue,  I  cannot  conceive  them 
as  lodged  in  your  soul  and  lodged  in  my  soul,  but  that 
you  and  I  and  all  souls  are  lodged  in  that ;  and  I  may 
easily  speak  of  that  adorable  nature,  there  where  only  I 
behold  it  in  my  dim  experiences,  in  such  terms  as  shall 
seem  to  the  frivolous,  who  dare  not  fathom  their  con 
sciousness,  as  profane.  How  is  a  man  a  man  ?  How 
can  he  exist  to  weave  relations  of  joy  and  virtue  with 
other  souls,  but  because  he  is  inviolable,  anchored  at  the 
centre  of  Truth  and  Being  ?  In  the  ever  returning 
hour  of  reflection,  he  says  :  '  I  stand  here  glad  at  heart 
of  all  the  sympathies  I  can  awaken  and  share,  clothing 
myself  with  them  as  with  a  garment  of  shelter  and 
beauty,  and  yet  knowing  that  it  is  not  in  the  power  of 
all  who  surround  me  to  take  from  me  the  smallest 
thread  I  call  mine.  If  all  things  are  taken  away,  I 
have  still  all  things  in  my  relation  to  the  Eternal.' 

We  pretend  not  to  define  the  way  of  its  access  to  the 
private  heart.  It  passes  understanding.  There  was  a 
time  when  Christianity  existed  in  one  child.  But  if  the 
child  had  been  killed  by  Herod,  would  the  element  have 
been  lost  ?  God  sends  his  message,  if  not  by  one,  then 
quite  as  well  by  another.  Wrhen  the  Master  of  the 
Universe  has  ends  to  fulfil,  he  impresses  his  will  on  the 
structure  of  minds. 

The  Divine  Mind  imparts  itself  to  the  single  person: 
his  whole  duty  is  to  this  rule  and  teaching.  The  aid 


CHARACTER.  83 

which  others  give  us  is  like  that  of  the  mother  to  the 
child,  —  temporary,  gestative,  a  short  period  of  lacta 
tion,  a  nurse's  or  a  governess's  care;  but  on  his  arrival 
at  a  certain  maturity,  it  ceases,  and  would  be  hurtful 
and  ridiculous  if  prolonged.  Slowly  the  body  comes  to 
the  use  of  its  organs;  slowly  the  soul  unfolds  itself  in 
the  new  man.  It  is  partial  at  first,  and  honors  only 
some  one  or  some  few  truths.  In  its  companions  it  sees 
other  truths  honored,  and  successively  finds  their  foun 
dation  also  in  itself.  Then  it  cuts  the  cord,  and  no 
longer  believes  "  because  of  thy  saying,"  but  because  it 
has  recognized  them  in  itself. 

The  Divine  Mind  imparts  itself  to  the  single  person: 
but  it  is  also  true  that  men  act  powerfully  on  us.  There 
are  men  who  astonish  and  delight,  men  who  instruct  and 
guide.  Some  men's  words  I  remember  so  well  that  I 
must  often  use  them  to  express  my  thought.  Yes,  be 
cause  I  perceive  that  we  have  heard  the  same  truth,  but 
they  have  heard  it  better.  That  is  only  to  say,  there 
is  degree  and  gradation  throughout  Nature;  and  the 
Deity  does  not  break  his  firm  laws  in  respect  to  impart 
ing  truth,  more  than  in  imparting  material  heat  and 
light.  Men  appear  from  time  to  time  who  receive  with 
more  purity  and  fulness  these  high  communications. 
But  it  is  only  as  fast  as  this  hearing  from  another  is 
authorized  by  its  consent  with  his  own,  that  it  is  pure 
and  safe  to  each;  and  all  receiving  from  abroad  must 
be  controlled  by  this  immense  reservation. 

It  happens  now  and  then,  in  the  ages,  that  a  soul  is 
born  which  has  no  weakness  of  self,  which  offers  no  im 
pediment  to  the  Divine  Spirit,  which  comes  down  into 
Nature  as  if  only  for  the  benefit  of  souls,  and  all  its 
thoughts  are  perceptions  of  things  as  they  are,  without 


84  CHARACTER. 

any  infirmity  of  earth.  Such  souls  are  as  the  apparition 
of  gods  among  men,  and  simply  by  their  presence  pass 
judgment  on  them.  Men  are  forced  by  their  own  self- 
respect  to  give  them  a  certain  attention.  Evil  men 
shrink  and  pay  involuntary  homage  by  hiding  or  apolo 
gizing  for  their  action. 

When  a  man  is  born  with  a  profound  moral  sentiment, 
preferring  truth,  justice  and  the  serving  of  all  men  to 
any  honors  or  any  gain,  men  readily  feel  the  superiority . 
They  who  deal  with  him  are  elevated  with  joy  and  hope ; 
he  lights  up  the  house  or  the  landscape  in  which  he 
stands.  His  actions  are  poetic  and  miraculous  in  their 
eyes.  In  his  presence,  or  within  his  influence,  every  one 
believes  in  the  immortality  of  the  soul.  They  feel  that 
the  invisible  world  sympathizes  with  him.  The  Ara 
bians  delight  in  expressing  the  sympathy  of  the  unseen 
world  with  holy  men. 

When  Omar  prayed  and  loved, 

Where  Syrian  waters  roll, 
Aloft  the  ninth  heaven  glowed  and  moved 

To  the  tread  of  the  jubilant  soul. 

A  chief  event  of  life  is  the  day  in  which  we  have  en 
countered  a  mind  that  startled  us  by  its  large  scope.  I 
am  in  the  habit  of  thinking,  —  not,  I  hope,  out  of  a  par 
tial  experience,  but  confirmed  by  what  I  notice  in  many 
lives,  —  that  to  every  serious  mind  Providence  sends 
from  time  to  time  five  or  six  or  seven  teachers  who  are 
of  the  first  importance  to  him  in  the  lessons  they  have 
to  impart.  The  highest  of  these  not  so  much  give  par. 
ticular  knowledge,  as  they  elevate  by  sentiment  and  by 
their  habitual  grandeur  of  view. 

Great  men  serve  us  as  insurrections  do  in  bad  govern 
ments.  The  world  would  run  into  endless  routine,  and 


CHARACTER.  85 

forms  incrust  forms,  till  the  life  was  gone.  But  the 
perpetual  supply  of  new  genius  shocks  us  with  thrills 
of  life,  and  recalls  us  to  principles.  Lucifer's  wager 
in  the  old  drama  was,  "  There  is  no  steadfast  man  on 
earth."  He  is  very  rare.  "  A  man  is  already  of  con 
sequence  in  the  world  when  it  is  known  that  we  can  im 
plicitly  rely  on  him."  See  how  one  noble  person  dwarfs 
a  whole  nation  of  underlings.  This  steadfastness  we 
indicate  when  we  praise  character. 

Character  denotes  habitual  self-possession,  habitual 
regard  to  interior  and  constitutional  motives,  a  balance 
not  to  be  overset  or  easily  disturbed  by  outward  events 
and  opinion,  and  by  implication  points  to  the  source  of 
right  motive.  We  sometimes  employ  the  word  to  ex 
press  the  strong  and  consistent  will  of  men  of  mixed 
motive,  but,  when  used  with  emphasis,  it  points  to  what 
no  events  can  change,  that  is,  a  will  built  on  the  reason 
of  things.  Such  souls  do  not  come  in  troops:  oftenest 
appear  solitary,  like  a  general  without  his  command, 
because  those  who  can  understand  and  uphold  such 
appear  rarely  ;  not  many,  perhaps  not  one,  in  a  genera 
tion.  And  the  memory  and  tradition  of  such  a  leader 
is  preserved  in  some  strange  way  by  those  who  only 
half  understand  him,  until  a  true  disciple  comes,  who 
apprehends  and  interprets  every  word. 

The  sentiment  never  stops  in  pure  vision,  but  will  be 
enacted.  It  affirms  not  only  its  truth,  but  its  suprem 
acy.  It  is  not  only  insight,  as  science,  as  fancy,  as 
imagination  is;  or  an  entertainment,  as  friendship  and 
poetry  are  ;  but  it  is  a  sovereign  rule  :  and  the  acts 
which  it  suggests  —  as  when  it  impels  a  man  to  go  forth 
and  impart  it  to  other  men,  or  sets  him  on  some  as 
ceticism  or  some  practice  of  self-examination  to  hold 


86  CHARACTER. 

him  to  obedience,  or  some  zeal  to  unite  men  to  abate 
some  nuisance,  or  establish  some  reform  or  charity 
which  it  commands  —  are  the  homage  we  render  to  this 
sentiment,  as  compared  with  the  lower  regard  we  pay 
to  other  thoughts  :  and  the  private  or  social  practices 
we  establish  in  its  honor  we  call  religion. 

The  sentiment,  of  course,  is  the  judge  and  measure 
of  every  expression  of  it,  —  measures  Judaism,  Stoicism, 
Christianity,  Buddhism,  or  whatever  philanthropy,  or 
politics,  or  saint,  or  seer  pretends  to  speak  in  its  name. 
The  religions  we  call  false  were  once  true.  They  also 
were  affirmations  of  the  conscience  correcting  the  evil 
customs  of  their  times.  The  populace  drag  down  the 
gods  to  their  own  level,  and  give  them  their  egotism ; 
whilst  in  Nature  is  none  at  all,  God  keeping  out  of 
sight,  and  known  only  as  pure  law,  though  resistless. 
Chateaubriand  said,  with  some  irreverence  of  phrase,  If 
God  made  man  in  his  image,  man  has  paid  him  well 
back.  "  Si  Dieu  a  fait  Vhomme  a  son  image,  I'homme  Va 
bien  rendu."  Every  nation  is  degraded  by  the  gob 
lins  it  worships  instead  of  this  Deity.  The  Dionysia 
and  Saturnalia  of  Greece  and  Rome,  the  human  sacrifice 
of  the  Druids,  the  Sradda  of  Hindoos,  the  Purgatory, 
the  Indulgences,  and  the  Inquisition  of  Popery,  the  vin 
dictive  mythology  of  Calvinism,  are  examples  of  this 
perversion. 

Every  particular  instruction  is  speedily  embodied  in 
a  ritual,  is  accommodated  to  humble  and  gross  minds, 
and  corrupted.  The  moral  sentiment  is  the  perpetual 
critic  on  these  forms,  thundering  its  protest,  sometimes 
in  earnest  and  lofty  rebuke ;  but  sometimes  also  it  is  the 
source,  in  natures  less  pure,  of  sneers  and  flippant  jokes 
of  common  people,  who  feel  that  the  forms  and  dogmas 


CHARACTER.  87 

are  not  true  for  them,  though  they  do  not  see  where  the 
error  lies. 

The  religion  of  one  age  is  the  literary  entertainment 
of  the  next.  We  use  in  our  idlest  poetry  and  discourse 
the  words  Jove,  Neptune,  Mercury,  as  mere  colors,  and 
can  hardly  believe  that  they  had  to  the  lively  Greek  the 
anxious  meaning  which,  in  our  towns,  is  given  and  re 
ceived  in  churches  when  our  religious  names  are  used: 
and  we  read  with  surprise  the  horror  of  Athens  when, 
one  morning,  the  statues  of  Mercury  in  the  temples 
were  found  broken,  and  the  like  consternation  was  in 
the  city  as  if,  in  Boston,  all  the  Orthodox  churches 
should  be  burned  in  one  night. 

The  greatest  dominion  will  be  to  the  deepest  thought. 
The  establishment  of  Christianity  in  the  world  does  not 
rest  on  any  miracle  but  the  miracle  of  being  the  broad 
est  and  most  humane  doctrine.  Christianity  was  once  a 
schism  and  protest  against  the  impieties  of  the  time, 
which  had  originally  been  protests  against  earlier  impi 
eties,  but  had  lost  their  truth.  Varnhagen  von  Ense, 
writing  in  Prussia  in  1848,  says  :  "  The  Gospels  belong 
to  the  most  aggressive  writings.  No  leaf  thereof  could 
attain  the  liberty  of  being  printed  (in  Berlin)  to-day. 
What  Mirabeaus,  Rousseaus,  Diderots,  Fichtes,  Heines, 
and  many  another  heretic,  one  can  detect  therein !  " 

But  before  it  wae  yet  a  national  religion  it  was  al 
loyed,  and,  in  the  hands  of  hot  Africans,  of  luxurious 
Byzantines,  of  fierce  Gauls,  its  creeds  were  tainted  with 
their  barbarism.  In  Holland,  in  England,  in  Scotland, 
it  felt  the  national  narrowness.  How  unlike  our  ha 
bitual  turn  of  thought  was  that  of  the  last  century  in 
this  country  !  Our  ancestors  spoke  continually  of  angels 
and  archangels  with  the  same  good  faith  as  they  would 


CHARACTER. 

have  spoken  of  their  own  parents  or  their  late  minister. 
Now  the  words  pale,  are  rhetoric,  and  all  credence  is 
gone.  Our  horizon  is  not  far,  say  one  generation,  or 
thirty  years  :  we  all  see  so  much.  The  older  see  two 
generations,  or  sixty  years.  But  what  has  been  running 
on  through  three  horizons,  or  ninety  years,  looks  to  all 
the  world  like  a  law  of  Nature,  and  't  is  an  impiety  to 
doubt.  Thus,  't  is  incredible  to  us,  if  we  look  into  the 
religious  books  of  our  grandfathers,  how  they  held 
themselves  in  such  a  pinfold.  But  why  not  ?  As  far 
as  they  could  see,  through  two  or  three  horizons,  noth 
ing  but  ministers  and  ministers.  Calvinism  was  one 
and  the  same  thing  in  Geneva,  in  Scotland,  in  Old  and 
New  England.  If  there  was  a  wedding,  they  had  a 
sermon  ;  if  a  funeral,  then  a  sermon  ;  if  a  war,  or  small 
pox,  or  a  comet,  or  canker-worms,  or  a  deacon  died,  — 
still  a  sermon  :  Nature  was  a  pulpit  ;  the  church-war 
den  or  tithing-man  was  a  petty  persecutor  ;  the  presby 
tery,  a  tyrant ;  and  in  many  a  house  in  country  places 
the  poor  children  found  seven  sabbaths  in  a  week.  Fifty 
or  a  hundred  years  ago,  prayers  were  said,  morning  and 
evening,  in  all  families  ;  grace  was  said  at  table  ;  an 
exact  observance  of  the  Sunday  was  kept  in  the  houses 
of  laymen  as  of  clergymen.  And  one  sees  with  some 
pain  the  disuse  of  rites  so  charged  with  humanity  and 
aspiration.  But  it  by  no  means  follows,  because  those 
offices  are  much  disused,  that  the  men  and  women 
are  irreligious  ;  certainly  not  that  they  have  less  integ 
rity  or  sentiment,  but  only,  let  us  hope,  that  they  see 
that  they  can  omit  the  form  without  loss  of  real  ground  ; 
perhaps  that  they  find  some  violence,  some  cramping  of 
their  freedom  of  thought,  in  the  constant  recurrence  of 
the  form. 


CHARACTER.  89 

So  of  the  changed  position  and  manners  of  the  clergy. 
They  have  dropped,  with  the  sacerdotal  garb  and  man 
ners  of  the  last  century,  many  doctrines  and  practices 
once  esteemed  indispensable  to  their  order.  But  the 
distinctions  of  the  true  clergyman  are  not  less  decisive. 
Men  ask  now,  "  Is  he  serious  ?  Is  he  a  sincere  man, 
who  lives  as  he  teaches  ?  Is  he  a  benefactor  ?  "  So 
far  the  religion  is  now  where  it  should  be.  Persons  are 
discriminated  as  honest,  as  veracious,  as  illuminated,  as 
helpful,  as  having  public  and  universal  regards,  or  oth 
erwise  ;  —  are  discriminated  according  to  their  aims, 
and  not  by  these  ritualities. 

The  changes  are  inevitable  ;  the  new  age  cannot  see 
with  the  eyes  of  the  last.  But  the  change  is  in  what  is 
superficial  ;  the  principles  are  immortal,  and  the  rally 
on  the  principle  must  arrive  as  people  become  intellect 
ual.  I  consider  theology  to  be  the  rhetoric  of  morals. 
The  mind  of  this  age  has  fallen  away  from  theology  to 
morals.  I  conceive  it  an  advance.  I  suspect,  that, 
when  the  theology  was  most  florid  and  dogmatic,  it  was 
the  barbarism  of  the  people,  and  that,  in  that  very  time, 
the  best  men  also  fell  away  from  theology,  and  rested 
in  morals.  I  think  that  all  the  dogmas  rest  on  morals, 
and  that  it  is  only  a  question  of  youth  or  maturity,  of 
more  or  less  fancy  in  the  recipient  ;  that  the  stern  de 
termination  to  do  justly,  to  speak  the  truth,  to  be  chaste 
and  humble,  was  substantially  the  same,  whether  under 
a  self-respect,  or  under  a  vow  made  on  the  knees  at  the 
shrine  of  Madonna. 

When  once  Selden  had  said  that  the  priests  seemed 
to  him  to  be  baptizing  their  own  fingers,  the  rite  of  bap 
tism  was  getting  late  in  the  world.  Or  when  once  it  is 
perceived  that  the  English  missionaries  in  India  put  ob- 


90  CHARACTER. 

stacles  in  the  way  of  schools,  (as  is  alleged,)  —  do  not 
wish  to  enlighten  but  to  Christianize  the  Hindoos,  —  it 
is  seen  at  once  how  wide  of  Christ  is  English  Christi 
anity. 

Mankind  at  large  always  resemble  frivolous  children  : 
they  are  impatient  of  thought,  and  wish  to  be  amused. 
Truth  is  too  simple  for  us  ;  we  do  not  like  those  who 
unmask  our  illusions.  Fontenelle  said  :  "  If  the  Deity 
should  lay  bare  to  the  eyes  of  men  the  secret  system  of 
Nature,  the  causes  by  which  all  the  astronomic  results 
are  effected,  and  they  finding  no  magic,  no  mystic  num 
bers,  no  fatalities,  but  the  greatest  simplicity,  I  am  per 
suaded  they  would  not  be  able  to  suppress  a  feeling  of 
mortification,  and  would  exclaim,  with  disappointment, 
'  Is  that  all  ?  '  "  And  so  we  paint  over  the  bareness  of 
ethics  with  the  quaint  grotesques  of  theology. 

We  boast  the  triumph  of  Christianity  over  Paganism, 
meaning  the  victory  of  the  spirit  over  the  senses  ;  but 
Paganism  hides  itself  in  the  uniform  of  the  Church. 
Paganism  has  only  taken  the  oath  of  allegiance,  taken 
the  cross,  but  is  Paganism  still,  outvotes  the  true  men 
by  millions  of  majority,  carries  the  bag,  spends  the 
treasure,  writes  the  tracts,  elects  the  minister,  and  per 
secutes  the  true  believer. 

There  is  a  certain  secular  progress  of  opinion,  which, 
in  civil  countries,  reaches  everybody.  One  service 
which  this  age  has  rendered  is,  to  make  the  life  and 
wisdom  of  every  past  man  accessible  and  available  to 
all.  Socrates  and  Marcus  Aurelius  are  allowed  to  be 
saints  ;  Mahomet  is  no  longer  accursed  ;  Voltaire  is  no 
longer  a  scarecrow  ;  Spinoza  has  come  to  be  revered. 
"  The  time  will  come,"  says  Varnhagen  von  Ense. 
"  when  we  shall  treat  the  jokes  and  sallies  against  the 


CHARACTER.  91 

myths  and  church-rituals  of  Christianity  —  say  the  sar 
casms  of  Voltaire,  Frederic  the  Great,  and  D'Alembert 

—  good  naturedly  and  without  offence  :  since,  at  bot 
tom,  those  men  mean  honestly,  their  polemics  proceed 
out  of  a  religious  striving,  and  what  Christ  meant  and 
willed  is  in  essence  more  with  them  than  with  their  op 
ponents,  who  only  wear  and  misrepresent  the  name  of 
Christ.  .  .  .  Voltaire  was  an  apostle  of  Christian  ideas  ; 
only  the  names  were  hostile  to  him,  and  he  never  knew 
it  otherwise.     He  was  like  the  son  of  the  vine-dresser 
in  the  Gospel,  who  said  No,  and  went  ;  the  other  said 
Yea,  and  went  not.     These  men  preached  the  true  God, 

—  Him  whom  men  serve  by  justice  and  uprightness  ; 
but  they  called  themselves  atheists." 

When  the  highest  conceptions,  the  lessons  of  religion, 
are  imported,  the  nation  is  not  culminating,  has  not  ge 
nius,  but  is  servile.  A  true  nation  loves  its  vernacular 
tongue.  A  completed  nation  will  not  import  its  religion. 
Duty  grows  everywhere,  like  children,  like  grass  ;  and 
we  need  not  go  to  Europe  or  to  Asia  to  learn  it.  I  am 
not  sure  that  the  English  religion  is  not  all  quoted. 
Even  the  Jeremy  Taylors,  Fullers,  George  Herberts, 
steeped,  all  of  them,  in  Church  traditions,  are  only 
using  their  fine  fancy  to  emblazon  their  memory.  'T  is 
Judaea,  not  England,  which  is  the  ground.  So  with  the 
mordant  Calvinism  of  Scotland  and  America.  But  this 
quoting,  distances  and  disables  them  :  since  with  every 
rdpeater  something  of  creative  force  is  lost,  as  we  feel 
when  we  go  back  to  each  original  moralist.  Pythago 
ras,  Socrates,  the  Stoics,  the  Hindoo,  Behmen,  George 
Fox,  —  these  speak  originally  ;  and  how  many  sentences 
and  books  we  owe  to  unknown  authors,  —  to  writers  who 
were  not  careful  to  set  down  name  or  date  or  titles  or 
cities  or  postmarks  in  these  illuminations  ! 


92  CHARACTER. 

We,  in  our  turn,  want  power  to  drive  the  ponderous 
State.  The  constitution  and  law  in  America  must  be 
written  on  ethical  principles,  so  that  the  entire  power 
of  the  spiritual  world  can  be  enlisted  to  hold  the  loy 
alty  of  the  citizen,  and  to  repel  every  enemy  as  by 
force  of  Nature.  The  laws  of  old  empires  stood  on  the 
religious  convictions.  Now  that  their  religions  are  out 
grown,  the  empires  lack  strength.  Romanism  in  Eu 
rope  does  not  represent  the  real  opinion  of  enlightened 
men.  The  Lutheran  Church  does  not  represent  in 
Germany  the  opinions  of  the  universities.  In  England, 
the  gentlemen,  the  journals,  and  now,  at  last,  church 
men  and  bishops,  have  fallen  away  from  the  Anglican 
Church.  And  in  America,  where  are  no  legal  ties  to 
churches,  the  looseness  appears  dangerous. 

Our  religion  has  got  on  as  far  as  Unitarianism.  But 
all  the  forms  grow  pale.  The  walls  of  the  temple  are 
wasted  and  thin,  and,  at  last,  only  a  film  of  whitewash, 
because  the  mind  of  our  culture  has  already  left  our 
liturgies  behind.  "  Every  age,"  says  Varnhagen,  "  lias 
another  sieve  for  the  religious  tradition,  and  will  sift  it 
out  again.  Something  is  continually  lost  by  this  treat 
ment,  which  posterity  cannot  recover." 

But  it  is  a  capital  truth  that  Nature,  moral  as  well  as 
material,  is  always  equal  to  herself.  Ideas  always  gen 
erate  enthusiasm.  The  creed,  the  legend,  forms  of  wor 
ship,  swiftly  decay.  Morals  is  the  incorruptible  essence, 
very  heedless  in  its  richness  of  any  past  teacher  or  wit 
ness,  heedless  of  their  lives  and  fortunes.  It  does  not 
ask  whether  you  are  wrong  or  right  in  your  anecdotes 
of  them  ;  but  it  is  all  in  all  how  you  stand  to  your  own 
tribunal. 

The  lines  of  the  religious  sects  are  very  shifting; 


CHARACTER.  93 

their  platforms  unstable  ;  the  whole  science  of  theology 
of  great  uncertainty,  and  resting  very  much  on  the 
opinions  of  who  may  chance  to  be  the  leading  doctors 
of  Oxford  or  Edinburgh,  of  Princeton  or  Cambridge,  to 
day.  No  man  can  tell  what  religious  revolutions  await 
us  in  the  next  years  ;  and  the  education  in  the  divinity 
colleges  may  well  hesitate  and  vary.  But  the  science 
of  ethics  has  no  mutation  ;  and  whoever  feels  any  love 
or  skill  for  ethical  studies  may  safely  lay  out  all  his 
strength  and  genius  in  working  in  that  mine.  The  pul 
pit  may  shake,  but  this  platform  will  not.  All  the  vic 
tories  of  religion  belong  to  the  moral  sentiment.  Some 
poor  soul  beheld  the  Law  blazing  through  such  impedi 
ments  as  he  had,  and  yielded  himself  to  humility  and 
joy.  What  was  gained  by  being  told  that  it  was  justi 
fication  by  faith  ? 

The  Church,  in  its  ardor  for  beloved  persons,  clings 
to  the  miraculous,  in  the  vulgar  sense,  which  has  even 
an  immoral  tendency,  as  one  sees  in  Greek,  Indian  and 
Catholic  legends,  which  are  used  to  gloze  every  crime. 
The  soul,  penetrated  with  the  beatitude  which  pours 
into  it  on  all  sides,  asks  no  interpositions,  no  new  laws, 
—  the  old  are  good  enough  for  it,  —  finds  in  every  cart- 
path  of  labor  ways  to  heaven,  and  the  humblest  lot 
exalted.  Men  will  learn  to  put  back  the  emphasis  per 
emptorily  on  pure  morals,  always  the  same,  not  sub 
ject  to  doubtful  interpretation,  with  no  sale  of  indul 
gences  no  massacre  of  heretics,  no  female  slaves,  no 
disfranchisement  of  woman,  no  stigma  on  race  ;  to 
make  morals  the  absolute  test,  and  so  uncover  and  drive 
out  the  false  religions.  There  is  no  vice  that  has  not 
skulked  behind  them.  It  is  only  yesterday  that  our 
American  churches,  so  long  silent  on  Slavery,  and  noto- 


94  CHARACTER. 

riously  hostile  to  the  Abolitionist,  wheeled  into  line  for 
Emancipation. 

I  am  far  from  accepting  the  opinion  that  the  revela 
tions  of  the  moral  sentiment  are  insufficient,  as  if  it 
furnished  a  rule  only,  and  not  the  spirit  by  which  the 
rule  is  animated.  For  I  include  in  these,  of  course,  the 
history  of  Jesus,  as  well  as  those  of  every  divine  soul 
which  in  any  place  or  time  delivered  any  grand  lesson 
to  humanity  ;  and  I  find  in  the  eminent  experiences  in 
all  times  a  substantial  agreement.  The  sentiment  it 
self  teaches  unity  of  source,  and  disowns  every  superi 
ority  other  than  of  deeper  truth.  Jesus  has  immense 
claims  on  the  gratitude  of  mankind,  and  knew  how  to 
guard  the  integrity  of  his  brother's  soul  from  himself 
also  ;  but,  in  his  disciples,  admiration  of  him  runs  away 
with  their  reverence  for  the  human  soul,  and  they  ham 
per  us  with  limitations  of  person  and  text.  Every  ex 
aggeration  of  these  is  a  violation  of  the  soul's  right,  and 
inclines  the  manly  reader  to  lay  down  the  New  Testa 
ment,  to  take  up  the  Pagan  philosophers.  It  is  not  that 
the  Upanishads  or  the  Maxims  of  Antoninus  are  better, 
but  that  they  do  not  invade  his  freedom  ;  because  they 
are  only  suggestions,  whilst  the  other  adds  the  inad 
missible  claim  of  positive  authority,  —  of  an  external 
command,  where  command  cannot  be.  This  is  the  se 
cret  of  the  mischievous  result  that,  in  every  period  of 
intellectual  expansion,  the  Church  ceases  to  draw  into 
its  clergy  those  who  best  belong  there,  the  largest  and 
freest  minds,  and  that  in  its  most  liberal  forms,  when 
such  minds  enter  it,  they  are  coldly  received,  and  find 
themselves  out  of  place.  This  charm  in  the  Pagan 
moralists,  of  suggestion,  the  charm  of  poetry,  of  mere 
truth,  (easily  disengaged  from  the  historical  accidents 


CHARACTER.  95 

which  nobody  wishes  to  force  on  us,)  the  New  Testa 
ment  loses  by  its  connection  with  a  church.  Mankind 
cannot  long  suffer  this  loss,  and  the  office  of  this  age  is 
to  put  all  these  writings  on  the  eternal  footing  of  equal 
ity  of  origin  in  the  instincts  of  the  human  mind.  It  is 
certain  that  each  inspired  master  will  gain  instantly  by 
the  separation  from  the  idolatry  of  ages. 

To  their  great  honor,  the  simple  and  free  minds 
among  our  clergy  have  not  resisted  the  voice  of  Nature 
and  the  advanced  perceptions  of  the  mind  ;  and  every 
church  divides  itself  into  a  liberal  and  expectant  class, 
on  one  side,  and  an  unwilling  and  conservative  class  on 
the  other.  As  it  stands  with  us  now,  a  few  clergymen, 
with  a  more  theological  cast  of  mind,  retain  the  tradi 
tions,  but  they  carry  them  quietly.  In  general  dis 
course,  they  are  never  obtruded.  If  the  clergyman 
should  travel  in  France,  in  England,  in  Italy,  he  might 
leave  them  locked  up  in  the  same  closet  with  his  "  oc 
casional  sermons  "  at  home,  and,  if  he  did  not  return, 
would  never  think  to  send  for  them.  The  orthodox 
clergymen  hold  a  little  firmer  to  theirs,  as  Calvinism 
has  a  more  tenacious  vitality  ;  but  that  is  doomed  also, 
and  will  only  die  last  ;  for  Calvinism  rushes  to  be  Uni- 
tarianism,  as  Unitarianism  rushes  to  be  pure  Thehm. 

But  the  inspirations  are  never  withdrawn.  In  the 
worst  times,  men  of  organic  virtue  are  born,  —  men  and 
women  of  native  integrity,  and  indifferently  in  high  and 
low  conditions.  There  will  always  be  a  class  of  imag 
inative  youths,  whom  poetry,  whom  the  love  of  beauty, 
lead  to  the  adoration  of  the  moral  sentiment,  and  these 
will  provide  it  with  new  historic  forms  and  songs.  Re 
ligion  is  as  inexpugnable  as  the  use  of  lamps,  or  of  wells, 
or  of  chimneys.  We  must  have  days  and  temples  and 


96  CHARACTER. 

teachers.  The  Sunday  is  the  core  of  our  civilization, 
dedicated  to  thought  and  reverence.  It  invites  to  the 
noblest  solitude  and  the  noblest  society,  to  whatever 
means  and  aids  of  spiritual  refreshment.  Men  may 
well  come  together  to  kindle  each  other  to  virtuous 
living.  Confucius  said,  "  If  in  the  morning  I  hear  of 
the  right  way,  and  in  the  evening  die,  I  can  be  happy." 
The  churches  already  indicate  the  new  spirit  in  add 
ing  to  the  perennial  office  of  teaching,  beneficent  ac 
tivities,  —  as  in  creating  hospitals,  ragged  schools,  offices 
of  employment  for  the  poor,  appointing  almoners  to 
the  helpless,  guardians  of  foundlings  and  orphans.  The 
power  that  in  other  times  inspired  crusades,  or  the 
colonization  of  New  England,  or  the  modern  revivals, 
flies  to  the  help  of  the  deaf-mute  and  the  blind,  to  the 
education  of  the  sailor  and  the  vagabond  boy,  to  the 
reform  of  convicts  and  harlots,  —  as  the  war  created 
the  Hilton  Head  and  Charleston  missions,  the  Sanitary 
Commission,  the  nurses  and  teachers  at  Washington. 

• 
In  the  present  tendency  of  our  society,  in  the  new 

importance  of  the  individual,  when  thrones  are  crum 
bling  and  presidents  and  governors  are  forced  every 
moment  to  remember  their  constituencies  ;  when  coun 
ties  and  towns  are  resisting  centralization,  and  the  in 
dividual  voter  his  party,  —  society  is  threatened  with 
actual  granulation,  religious  as  well  as  political.  How 
many  people  are  there  in  Boston?  Some  two  hundred 
thousand.  Well,  then  so  many  sects.  Of  course  each 
poor  soul  loses  all  his  old  stays;  no  bishop  watches  him, 
no  confessor  reports  that  he  has  neglected  the  confes 
sional,  no  class-leader  admonishes  him  of  absences,  no 
fagot,  no  penance,  no  tine,  no  rebuke.  Is  not  this  wrong? 


CHARACTER.  97 

is  not  this  dangerous?  'T  is  not  wrong,  but  the  law  of 
growth.  It  is  not  dangerous,  any  more  than  the  moth 
er's  withdrawing  her  hands  from  the  tottering  babe,  at 
his  first  walk  across  the  nursery-floor:  the  child  fears 
and  cries,  but  achieves  the  feat,  instantly  tries  it  again, 
and  never  wishes  to  be  assisted  more.  And  this  infant 
soul  must  learn  to  walk  alone.  At  first  he  is  forlorn, 
homeless;  but  this  rude  stripping  him  of  all  support 
drives  him  inward,  and  he  finds  himself  unhurt;  he 
finds  himself  face  to  face  with  the  majestic  Presence, 
reads  the  original  of  the  Ten  Commandments,  the  orig 
inal  of  Gospels  and  Epistles;  nay,  his  narrow  chapel  ex 
pands  to  the  blue  cathedral  of  the  sky,  where  he 

"  Looks  in  and  sees  each  blissful  deity, 
Where  he  before  the  thunderous  throne  doth  lie." 

To  nations  or  to  individuals  the  progress  of  opinion  is 
not  a  loss  of  moral  restraint,  but  simply  a  change  from 
coarser  to  finer  checks.  No  evil  can  come  from  reform 
which  a  deeper  thought  will  not  correct.  If  there  is 
any  tendency  in  national  expansion  to  form  character, 
religion  will  not  be  a  loser.  There  is  a  fear  that  pure 
truth,  pure  morals,  will  not  make  a  religion  for  the 
affections.  Whenever  the  sublimities  of  character  shall 
be  incarnated  in  a  man,  we  may  rely  that  awe  and  love 
and  insatiable  curiosity  will  follow  his  steps.  Character 
is  the  habit  of  action  from  the  permanent  vision  of  truth. 
It  carries  a  superiority  to  all  the  accidents  of  life.  It 
compels  right  relation  to  every  other  man,  —  domesti 
cates  itself  with  strangers  and  enemies.  "  But  I,  fa 
ther,"  says  the  wise  Prahlada,  in  the  Vishnu  Purana, 
"  know  neither  friends  nor  foes,  for  I  behold  Kesava  in 
all  beings  as  in  my  own  soul."  It  confers  perpetual 
insight.  It  sees  that  a  man's  friends  and  his  foes  are 
7 


98  CHARACTER. 

of  liis  own  household,  of  his  own  person.  What  would 
it  avail  me,  if  I  could  destroy  my  enemies  ?  There 
would  be  as  many  to-morrow.  That  which  I  hate  and 
fear  is  really  in  myself,  and  no  knife  is  long  enough  to 
reach  to  its  heart.  Confucius  said  one  day  to  Ke  Kang  : 
"  Sir,  in  carrying  on  your  government,  why  should  you 
use  killing  at  all?  Let  your  evinced  desires  be  for  what 
is  good,  and  the  people  will  be  good.  The  grass  must 
bend,  when  the  wind  blows  across  it."  Ke  Kang,  dis 
tressed  about  the  number  of  thieves  in  the  state,  inquired 
of  Confucius  how  to  do  away  with  them.  Confucius 
said,  "  If  you,  sir,  were  not  covetous,  although  you 
should  reward  them  to  do  it,  they  would  not  steal." 

Its  methods  are  subtle,  it  works  without  means.  It 
indulges  no  enmity  against  any,  knowing,  with  Prahlada 
that  "  the  suppression  of  malignant  feeling  is  itself  a  re 
ward."  The  more  reason  the  less  government.  In  a 
sensible  family,  nobody  ever  hears  the  words  "  shall " 
and  "sha'n't;"  nobody  commands,  and  nobody  obeys, 
but  all  conspire  and  joyfully  co-operate.  Take  off  the 
roofs  of  hundreds  of  happy  houses,  and  you  shall  see 
this  order  without  ruler,  and  the  like  in  every  intelligent 
and  moral  society.  Command  is  exceptional,  and  marks 
some  break  in  the  link  of  reason;  as  the  electricity  goes 
round  the  world  without  a  spark  or  a  sound,  until  there 
is  a  break  in  the  wire  or  the  water  chain.  Swedenborg 
said,  that,  "  in  the  spiritual  world,  when  one  wishes  to 
rule,  or  despises  others,  he  is  thrust  out  of  doors." 
Goethe,  in  discussing  the  characters  in  "  Wilhelm  Meis- 
ter,"  maintained  his  belief  that  "  pure  loveliness  and 
right  good-will  are  the  highest  manly  prerogatives,  be 
fore  which  all  energetic  heroism,  with  its  lustre  and 
renown,  must  recede."  In  perfect  accord  with  this, 


CHARACTER.  99 

Henry  James  affirms,  that  "to  give  the  feminine  ele 
ment  in  life  its  hard-earned  but  eternal  supremacy  over 
the  masculine  has  been  the  secret  inspiration  of  all  past 
history." 

There  is  no  end  to  the  sufficiency  of  character.  It 
can  afford  to  wait ;  it  can  do  without  what  is  called  suc 
cess  ;  it  cannot  but  succeed.  To  a  well-principled  man 
existence  is  victory.  •  He  defends  himself  against  failure 
in  his  main  design  by  making  every  inch  of  the  road  to 
it  pleasant.  There  is  no  trifle,  and  no  obscurity  to  him: 
he  feels  the  immensity  of  the  chain  whose  last  link  he 
holds  in  his  hand,  and  is  led  by  it.  Having  nothing, 
this  spirit  hath  all.  It  asks,  with  Marcus  Aurelius, 
"  What  matter  by  whom  the  good  is  done  ?  "  It  extols 
humility,  —  by  every  self-abasement  lifted  higher  in  the 
scale  of  being.  It  makes  no  stipulations  for  earthly 
felicity,  —  does  not  ask,  in  the  absoluteness  of  its  trust, 
even  for  the  assurance  of  continued  life. 


EDUCATION. 


WITH  the  key  of  the  secret  he  marches  faster 
From  strength  to  strength,  and  for  night  brings  day. 
While  classes  or  tribes  too  weak  to  master 
The  flowing  conditions  of  life,  give  way. 


EDUCATION. 


A  NEW  degree  of  intellectual  power  seems  cheap  at 
any  price.  The  use  of  the  world  is  that  man  may  learn 
its  laws.  And  the  human  race  have  wisely  signified 
their  sense  of  this,  by  calling  wealth,  means,  —  Man  be 
ing  the  end.  Language  is  always  wise. 

Therefore  I  praise  New  England  because  it  is  the 
country  in  the  woild  where  is  the  freest  expenditure  for 
education.  We  have  already  taken,  at  the  planting  of 
the  Colonies,  (  for  aught  I  know  for  the  first  time  in  the 
world, )  the  initial  step,  which  for  its  importance  might 
have  been  resisted  as  the  most  radical  of  revolutions,  thus 
deciding  at  the  start  the  destiny  of  this  country,  —  this, 
namely,  that  the  poor  man,  whom  the  law  does  not  al 
low  to  take  an  ear  of  corn  when  starving,  nor  a  pair  oZ 
shoes  for  his  freezing  feet,  is  allowed  to  put  his  hand 
into  the  pocket  of  the  rich,  and  say,  You  shall  educate 
me,  not  as  you  will,  but  as  I  will  :  not  alone  in  the  ele 
ments,  but,  by  further  provision,  in  the  languages,  in  sci 
ences,  in  the  useful  and  in  elegant  arts.  The  child  shall 
be  taken  up  by  the  State,  and  taught,  at  the  public  cost, 
the  rudiments  of  knowledge,  and,  at  last,  the  ripest  re 
sults  of  art  and  science. 

Humanly  speaking,  the  school,  the  college,  society, 


104  EDUCATION. 

make  the  difference  between  men.  All  the  fairy  tales 
of  Aladdin  or  the  invisible  Gyges  or  the  talisman  that 
opens  kings'  palaces  or  the  enchanted  halls  under 
ground  or  in  the  sea,  are  only  fictions  to  indicate  the 
one  miracle  of  intellectual  enlargement.  When  a  man 
stupid  becomes  a  man  inspired,  when  one  and  the  same 
man  passes  out  of  the  torpid  into  the  perceiving  state, 
leaves  the  din  of  trifles,  tli3  stupor  of  the  senses,  to  en- 
tor  into  the  quasi-omniscience  of  high  thought,  —  up 
and  down,  around,  all  limits  disappear.  No  horizon 
shuts  down.  He  sees  things  in  their  causes,  all  facts  in 
their  connection. 

One  of  the  problems  of  history  is  the  beginning  of 
civilization.  The  animals  that  accompany  and  serve 
man  make  no  progress  as  races.  Those  called  domes 
tic  are  capable  of  learning  of  man  a  few  tricks  of  utility 
or  amusement,  but  they  cannot  communicate  the  skill 
to  their  race.  Each  individual  must  be  taught  anew. 
The  trained  dog  cannot  train  another  dog.  And  Man 
him.self  in  many  races  retains  almost  the  unteachable- 
nc33  of  the  beast.  For  a  thousand  years  the  islands  and 
forests  of  a  great  part  of  the  world  have  been  filled 
with  savages  who  made  no  steps  of  advance  in  art  or 
skill  beyond  the  necessity  of  being  fed  and  warmed. 
Certain  nations  with  a  better  brain  and  usually  in  more 
temperate  climates,  have  made  such  progress  as  to  com 
pare  with  these  as  these  compare  with  the  bear  and  the 
wolf. 

Victory  over  tilings  is  the  office  of  man.  Of  course, 
until  it  is  accomplished,  it  is  the  war  and  insult  of  tbingj 
over  him.  His  continual  tendency,  his  great  danger,  u 
to  overlook  the  fact  that  the  world  is  only  his  teacher, 
and  the  nature  of  sun  and  moon,  plant  and  animal  onljr 


EDUCATION.  105 

means  of  arousing  his  interior  activity.  Enamored  of 
their  beauty,  comforted  by  their  convenience,  he  seeks 
them  as  ends,  and  fast  loses  sight  of  the  fact  that  they 
have  worse  than  no  values,  that  they  become  noxious, 
when  he  becomes  their  slave. 

This  apparatus  of  wants  and  faculties,  this  craving 
body,  whose  organs  ask  all  the  elements  and  all  the 
functions  of  Nature  for  their  satisfaction,  educate  the 
wondrous  creature  which  they  satisfy  with  light,  with 
heat,  with  water,  with  wood,  with  bread,  with  wool.  Tfie 
necessities  imposed  by  this  most  irritable  and  all-re 
lated  texture  have  taught  Man  hunting,  pasturage,  agri 
culture,  commerce,  weaving,  joining,  masonry,  geome 
try,  astronomy.  Here  is  a  world  pierced  and  belted 
with  natural  laws,  and  fenced  and  planted  with  civil 
partitions  and  properties,  which  all  put  new  restraints 
on  the  young  inhabitant.  He  too  must  come  into  this 
magic  circle  of  relations,  and  know  health  and  sickness, 
the  fear  of  injury,  the  desire  of  external  good,  the 
charm  of  riches,  the  charm  of  power.  The  household  is 
a  school  of  power.  There,  within  the  door,  learn  the 
tragi-comedy  of  human  life.  Here  is  the  sincere  thing, 
the  wondrous  composition  for  which  day  and  night  go 
round.  In  that  routine  are  the  sacred  relations,  the 
passions  that  bind  and  sever.  Here  is  poverty  and  all' 
the  wisdom  its  hated  necessities  can  teach,  here  labor 
drudges,  here  affections  glow,  here  the  secrets  of  char 
acter  are  told,  the  guards  of  man,  the  guards  of  woman, 
the  compensations  which,  like  angels  of  justice,  pay  ev 
ery  debt  :  the  opium  of  custom,  whereof  all  drink  and 
many  go  mad.  Here  is  Economy  and  Glee  and  Hos 
pitality  and  Ceremony  and  Frankness  and  Calamity  and 
Death  and  Hope. 


106  EDUCATION. 

Every  one  has  a  trust  of  power,  — every  man,  every 
boy  a  jurisdiction,  whether  it  be  over  a  cow  or  a  rood  of 
a  potato-field,  or  a  fleet  of  ships,  or  the  laws  of  a  state. 
And  what  activity  the  desire  of  power  inspires  !  What 
toils  it  sustains  !  How  it  sharpens  the  perceptions  and 
stores  the  memory  with  facts.  Thus  a  man  may  well 
spend  many  years  of  life  in  trade.  It  is  a  constant 
teaching  of  the  laws  of  matter  and  of  mind.  No  dollar 
of  property  can  be  creai.nl  without  some  direct  commu 
nication  with  nature,  and  of  course  some  acquisition  of 
knowledge  and  practical  force.  It  is  a  constant  contest 
with  the  active  faculties  of  men,  a  study  of  the  issues  of 
one  and  another  course  of  action,  an  accumulation  of 
power,  and,  if  the  higher  faculties  of  the  individual  be 
from  time  to  time  quickened,  he  will  gain  wisdom  and 
virtue  from  his  business. 

As  every  wind  draws  music  out  of  the  JEolian  harp, 
so  doth  every  object  in  Nature  draw  music  out  of  his 
mind.  Is  it  not  true  that  every  landscape  I  behold,  ev 
ery  friend  I  meet,  every  act  I  perform,  every  pain  I 
suffer,  leaves  me  a  different  being  from  that  they  found 
me  ?  That  poverty,  love,  authority,  anger,  sickness, 
sorrow,  success,  all  work  actively  upon  our  being  and 
unlock  for  us  the  concealed  faculties  of  the  mind  ? 
'Whatever  private  or  petty  ends  are  frustrated,  this  end 
is  always  answered.  Whatever  the  man  does,  or  what 
ever  befalls  him,  opens  another  chamber  in  his  soul,  — 
that  is,  he  has  got  a  new  feeling,  a  new  thought,  a  new 
organ.  Do  we  not  see  how  amazingly  for  this  end  man 
is  fitted  to  the  world  ? 

What  leads  him  to  science  ?  Why  does  he  track  in 
the  midnight  heaven  a  pure  spark,  a  luminous  patch 
wandering  from  age  to  age,  but  because  he  acquires 


EDUCATION  107 

thereby  a  majestic  sense  of  power  ;  learning  that  in  his 
own  constitution  he  can  set  the  shining  maze  in  order, 
and  finding  and  carrying  their  law  in  his  mind,  can,  as 
it  were,  see  his  simple  idea  realized  up  yonder  in  giddy 
distances  and  frightful  periods  of  duration.  If  Newton 
come  and  first  of  men  perceive  that  not  alone  certain 
bodies  fall  to  the  ground  at  a  certain  rate,  but  that  all 
bodies  in  the  Universe,  the  universe  of  bodies,  fall  al 
ways,  and  at  one  rate  ;  that  every  atom  in  nature  draws 
to  every  other  atom,  —  he  extends  the  power  of  his 
mind  not  only  over  every  cubic  atom  of  his  native 
planet,  but  he  reports  the  condition  of  millions  of  worlds 
which  his  eye  never  saw.  And  what  is  the  charm  which 
every  ore,  every  new  plant,  every  new  fact  touching 
winds,  clouds,  ocean  currents,  the  secrets  of  chemical 
composition  and  decomposition  possess  for  Humboldt  ? 
What  but  that  much  revolving  of  similar  facts  in  his 
mind  has  shown  him  that  always  the  mind  contains  in 
its  transparent  chambers  the  means  of  classifying  the 
most  refractory  phenomena,  of  depriving  them  of  all 
casual  and  chaotic  aspect,  and  subordinating  them  to  a 
bright  reason  of  its  own,  and  so  giving  to  man  a  sort  of 
property,  —  yea,  the  very  highest  property  in  every  dis 
trict  and  particle  of  the  globe. 

By  the  permanence  of  Nature,  minds  are  trained 
alike,  and  made  intelligible  to  each  other.  In  our  con 
dition  are  the  roots  of  language  and  communication,  and 
these  instructions  we  never  exhaust. 

In  some  sort  the  end  of  life  is  that  the  man  should 
take  up  the  universe  into  himself,  or  out  of  that  quarry 
leave  nothing  unrepresented.  Yonder  mountain  must 
migrate  into  his  mind.  Yonder  magnificent  astronomy 
he  is  at  last  to  import,  fetching  away  moon,  and  planet, 


108  EDUCATION. 

solstice,  period,  comet  and  binal  star,  by  comprehending 
their  relation  and  law.  Instead  of  the  timid  stripling 
he  was,  he  is  to  be  the  stalwart  Archimedes,  Pythago 
ras,  Columbus,  Newton,  of  the  physic,  metaphysic  and 
ethics  of  the  design  of  the  world. 

For  truly  the  population  of  the  globe  has  its  origin  in 
the  aims  which  their  existence  is  to  serve  ;  and  so  with 
every  portion  of  them.  The  truth  takes  flesh  in  forms 
that  can  express  it  ;  and  tints  in  history  an  idea  always 
overhangs,  like  the  moon,  and  rules  the  tide  which  rises 
simultaneously  in  all  the  souls  of  a  generation. 

Whilst  thus  the  world  exists  for  the  mind  ;  whilst 
thus  the  man  is  ever  invited  inward  into  shining  realms 
of  knowledge  and  power  by  the  shows  of  the  world, 
which  interpret  to  him  the  infinitude  of  his  own  con 
sciousness,  —  it  becomes  the  office  of  a  just  education 
to  awaken  him  to  a  knowledge  of  this  fact. 

We  learn  nothing  rightly  until  we  learn  the  symbol 
ical  character  of  life.  Day  creeps  after  day,  each  full 
of  facts,  dull,  strange,  despised  things,  that  we  cannot 
enough  despise,  —  call  heavy,  prosaic  and  desert.  The 
time  we  seek  to  kill  :  the  attention  it  is  elegant  to  di 
vert  from  things  around  us.  And  presently  the  aroused 
intellect  finds  gold  and  gem*  in  one  of  these  scorned 
facts,  —  then  finds  that  the  day  of  facts  is  a  rock  of  dia 
monds  ;  that  a  fact  is  an  Epiphany  of  God. 

We  have  our  theory  of  life,  our  religion,  our  philoso 
phy  ;  and  the  event  of  each  moment,  the  shower,  the 
steamboat  disaster,  the  passing  of  a  beautiful  face,  the 
apoplexy  of  our  neighbor,  are  all  tests  to  try  our  theory, 
the  approximate  result  we  call  truth,  and  reveal  its  de 
fects.  If  I  have  renounced  the  search  of  truth,  if  I 
have  come  into  the  port  of  some  pretending  dogmatism, 


EDUCATION.  109 

some  new  church  or  old  church,  some  Schelliug  or 
Cousin,  I  have  died  to  all  use  of  these  new  events  that 
are  born  out  of  prolific  time  into  multitude  of  life  every 
hour.  I  am  as  a  bankrupt  to  whom  brilliant  opportuni 
ties  offer  in  vain.  He  has  just  foreclosed  his  freedom, 
tied  his  hands,  locked  himself  up  and  given  the  key  to 
another  to  keep. 

When  I  see  the  doors  by  which  God  enters  into  the 
mind  ;  that  there  is  no  sot  or  fop,  ruffian  or  pedant  into 
whom  thoughts  do  not  enter  by  passages  which  the  in 
dividual  never  left  open,  I  can  expect  any  revolution  in 
character.  "  I  have  hope,"  said  the  great  Leibnitz, 
"  that  society  may  be  reformed,  when  I  see  how  much 
education  may  be  reformed." 

It  is  ominous,  a  presumption  of  crime,  that  this  word 
Education  has  so  cold,  so  hopeless  a  sound.  A  treatise 
on  education,  a  convention  for  education,  a  lecture,  a 
system,  affects  us  with  slight  paralysis  and  a  certain 
yawning  of  the  jaws.  We  are  not  encouraged  when  the 
law  touches  it  with  its  fingers.  Education  should  be  as 
broad  as  man.  Whatever  elements  are  in  him  that 
should  foster  and  demonstrate.  If  he  be  dexterous,  his 
tuition  should  make  it  appear  ;  if  he  be  capable  of  di 
viding  men  by  the  trenchant  sword  of  his  thought,  edu 
cation  should  unsheathe  and  sharpen  it  ;  if  he  is  one  to 
cement  society  by  his  all-reconciling  aimiities,  oh!  hasten 
their  action  !  If  he  is  jovial,  if  he  is  mercurial,  if  he  is 
great-hearted,  a  cunning  artificer,  a  strong  commander, 
a  potent  ally,  ingenious,  useful,  elegant,  witty,  prophet, 
diviner,  —  society  has  need  of  all  these.  The  imagina 
tion  must  be  addressed.  Why  always  coast  on  the  sur 
face  and  never  open  the  interior  of  nature,  not  by  sci 
ence,  which  is  surface  still,  but  by  poetry  ?  Is  not  the 


110  EDUCATION. 

Vast  an  element  of  the  mind  ?    Yet  what  teaching,  what 
book  of  this  day  appeals  to  the  Vast  ? 

Our  culture  has  truckled  to  the  times,  — to  the  senses. 
It  is  not  manwortliy.  If  the  vast  and  the  spiritual  are 
omitted,  so  are  the  practical  and  the  moral.  It  does 
not  make  us  brave  or  free.  We  teach  boys  to  be  such 
men  as  we  are.  We  do  not  teach  them  to  aspire  to  be 
all  they  can.  We  do  not  give  them  a  training  as  if  we 
believed  in  their  noble  nature.  We  scarce  educate  their 
bodies.  We  do  not  train  the  eye  and  the  hand.  We 
exercise  their  understandings  to  the  apprehension  and 
comparison  of  some  facts,  to  a  skill  in  numbers,  in 
words  ;  we  aim  to  make  accountants,  attorneys,  engi 
neers  ;  but  not  to  make  able,  earnest,  great-hearted 
men.  The  great  object  of  Education  should  be  com 
mensurate  with  the  object  of  life.  It  should  be  a  moral 
one  ;  to  teach  self-trust :  to  inspire  the  youthful  man 
with  an  interest  in  himself  ;  with  a  curiosity  touching 
his  own  nature  ;  to  acquaint  him  with  the  resources  of 
his  mind,  and  to  teach  him  that  there  is  all  his  strength, 
and  to  inflame  him  with  a  piety  towards  the  Grand  Mind 
in  which  he  lives.  Thus  would  education  conspire  with 
the  Divine  Providence.  A  man  is  a  little  thing  whilst 
he  works  by  and  for  himself,  but,  when  he  gives  voice 
to  the  rules  of  love  and  justice,  is  godlike,  his  word  is 
current  in  all  countries  ;  and  all  men,  though  his  ene 
mies,  are  made  his  friends  and  obey  it  as  their  own. 

In  affirming  that  the  moral  nature  of  man  is  the  pre 
dominant  element  and  should  therefore  be  mainly  con 
sulted  in  the  arrangements  of  a  school,  I  am  very  far 
from  wishing  that  it  should  swallow  up  all  the  other  in 
stincts  and  faculties  of  man.  It  should  be  enthroned 
hi  his  mind,  but  if  it  monopolize  the  man  he  is  not  yet 


EDUCATION.  Ill 

sound,  he  does  not  yet  know  his  wealth.  He  is  in 
danger  of  becoming  merely  devout,  and  wearisome 
through  the  monotony  of  his  thought.  It  is  not  less 
necessary  that  the  intellectual  and  the  active  faculties 
should  be  nourished  and  matured.  Let  us  apply  to  this 
subject  the  light  of  the  same  torch  by  which  we  have 
looked  at  all  the  phenomena  of  the  time  ;  the  infinitude, 
namely,  of  every  man.  Everything  teaches  that. 

One  fact  constitutes  all  my  satisfaction,  inspires  all 
my  trust,  viz.,  this  perpetual  youth,  which,  as  long  as 
there  is  any  good  in  us,  we  cannot  get  rid  of.  It  is 
very  certain  that  the  coming  age  and  the  departing  age 
seldom  understand  each  other.  The  old  man  thinks  the 
young  man  has  no  distinct  purpose,  for  he  could  never 
get  anything  intelligible  and  earnest  out  of  him.  Per 
haps  the  young  man  does  not  think  it  worth  his  while 
to  explain  himself  to  so  hard  and  inapprehensive  a  con 
fessor.  Let  him  be  *ed  up  with  a  long-sighted  for- 
bsarance,  and  let  not  the  sallies  of  his  petulance  or  folly 
bj  checked  with  disgust  or  indignation  or  despair. 

I  call  our  system  a  system  of  despair,  and  I  find  all 
the  correction,  all  the  revolution  that  is  needed  and  that 
the  best  spirits  of  this  age  promise,  in  one  word,  in  Hope. 
Nature,  when  she  sends  a  new  mind  into  the  world,  fills 
it  beforehand  with  a  desire  for  that  which  she  wishes  it 
to  know  and  do.  Let  us  wait  and  see  what  is  this  new 
creation,  of  what  new  organ  the  great  Spirit  had  need 
when  it  incarnated  this  new  Will.  A  new  Adam  in  the 
garden,  he  is  to  name  all  the  beasts  in  the  field,  all  the 
gods  in  the  sky.  And  jealous  provision  seems  to  have 
been  made  in  his  constitution  that  you  shall  not  invade 
and  contaminate  him  with  the  worn  weeds  of  your  lan 
guage  and  opinions.  The  charui  of  life  is  this  variety  of 


112  EDUCATION. 

genius,  these  contrasts  and  flavors  by  wliich  Heaven  has 
modulated  the  identity  of  truth,  and  there  is  a  perpetual 
hankering  to  violate  this  individuality,  to  warp  his  ways 
of  thinking  and  behavior  to  resemble  or  reflect  their 
tliinking  and  behavior.  A  low  self-love  in  the  parent 
desires  that  his  child  should  repeat  his  character  and 
fortune  ;  an  expectation  which  the  child,  if  justice  is 
done  him,  will  nobly  disappoint.  By  working  on  the 
thaory  that  this  resemblance  exists,  we  shall  do  what  in 
us  lies  to  defeat  his  proper  promise  and  produce  the 
ordinary  and  mediocre.  I  suffer  whenever  I  see  that 
common  sight  of  a  parent  or  senior  imposing  his  opinion 
and  way  of  thinking  and  being  on  a  young  soul  to  which 
they  are  totally  unfit.  Cannot  we  let  people  be  them 
selves,  and  enjoy  life  in  their  own  way  ?  You  are  try 
ing  to  make  that  man  another  you.  One  's  enough. 

Or  we  sacrifice  the  genius  of  the  pupil,  the  unknown 
possibilities  of  his  nature,  to  a  neat  and  safe  uniform 
ity,  as  the  Turks  whitewash  the  costly  mosaics  of  an 
cient  art  which  the  Greeks  left  on  their  temple  walls. 
Rather  let  us  have  men  whose  manhood  is  only  the 
continuation  of  their  boyhood,  natural  characters  still ; 
such  are  able  and  fertile  for  heroic  action  ;  and  not 
that  sad  spectacle  with  which  we  are  too  familiar,  edu 
cated  eyes  in  uneducated  bodies. 

I  like  boys,  the  masters  of  the  playground  and  of  the 
street,  —  boys,  who  have  the  same  liberal  ticket  of  ad- 
.  mission  to  all  shops,  factories  armories,  town -meet 
ings,  caucuses,  mobs,  target-shootings,  as  flies  have  ; 
quice  unsuspected,  coming  in  as  naturally  as  the  jani 
tor,  —  known  to  have  no  money  in  their  pockets,  and 
tbeinselves  not  suspecting  the  value  of  this  poverty  ; 
putting  nobody  on  his  guard,  but  seeing  the  inside  of 


EDUCATION.  113 

the  show,  —  hearing  all  the  asides.  There  are  no  se 
crets  from  them,  they  know  everything  that  befalls  in 
the  fire  company,  the  merits  of  every  engine  and  of 
every  man  at  the  brakes,  how  to  work  it,  and  are 
swift  to  try  their  hand  at  every  part  ;  so  too  the 
merits  of  every  locomotive  on  the  rails,  and  will  coax 
the  engineer  to  let  them  ride  with  him  and  pull  the 
handles  when  it  goes  to  the  engine-house.  They  are 
there  only  for  fun,  and  not  knowing  that  they  are  at 
school,  in  the  court-house,  or  the  cattle-show,  quite  as 
much  and  more  than  they  were,  an  hour  ago,  in  the 
arithmetic  class. 

They  know  truth  from  counterfeit  as  quick  as  the 
chemist  does.  They  detect  weakness  in  your  eye  and 
behavior  a  week  before  you  open  your  mouth,  and  have 
given  you  the  benefit  of  their  opinion  quick  as  a  wink. 
They  make  no  mistakes,  have  no  pedantry,  but  entire 
belief  on  experience.  Their  elections  at  base-ball  or 
cricket  are  founded  on  merit,  and  are  right.  They  don't 
pass  for  swimmers  until  they  can  swim,  nor  for  stroke- 
oar  until  they  can  row  :  and  I  desire  to  be  saved  from 
their  contempt.  If  I  can  pass  with  them,  I  can  manage 
well  enough  with  their  fathers. 

Everybody  delights  in  the  energy  with  which  boys  deal 
and  talk  with  each  other  ;  the  mixture  of  fun  and  ear 
nest,  reproach  and  coaxing,  love  and  wrath,  with  which 
the  game  is  played  ;  —  the  good-natured  yet  defiant  in 
dependence  of  a  leading  boy's  behavior  in  the  school 
yard.  How  we  envy  in  later  life  the  happy  youths  to 
whom  their  boisterous  games  and  rough  exercise  fur 
nish  the  precise  element  which  frames  and  sets  off 
their  school  and  college  tasks,  and  teaches  them,  when 
L'.ut  they  think  it,  the  usu  and  meaning  of  these.  In 


1 1  4  EDUCATION. 

their  fun  and  extreme  freak  they  hit  on  the  topmost 
sense  of  Horace.  The  young  giant,  brown  from  his 
hunting-tramp,  tells  his  story  well,  interlarded  with 
lucky  allusions  to  Homer,  to  Virgil,  to  college-songs,  to 
Walter  Scott  ;  and  Jove  and  Achilles,  partridge  and 
trout,  opera  and  binomial  theorem,  Csesar  in  Gaul, 
Sherman  in  Savannah,  and  hazing  in  Holworthy,  dance 
through  the  narrative  in  merry  confusion,  yet  the  logic 
is  good.  If  he  can  turn  his  books  to  such  picturesque 
account  in  his  fishing  and  hunting,  it  is  easy  to  see  how 
his  reading  and  experience,  as  he  has  more  of  both,  will 
interpenetrate  each  other.  And  every  one  desires  that 
this  pure  vigor  of  action  and  wealth  of  narrative,  cheered 
with  so  much  humor  and  street  rhetoric,  should  be  car 
ried  into  the  habit  of  the  young  man,  purged  of  its  up 
roar  and  rudeness,  but  with  all  its  vivacity  entire.  His 
hunting  and  campings-out  have  given  him  an  indispen 
sable  base  :  I  wish  to  add  a  taste  for  good  company 
through  his  impatience  of  bad.  That  stormy  genius  of 
his  needs  a  little  direction  to  games,  charades,  verses  of 
society,  song,  and  a  correspondence  year  by  year  with 
his  wisest  and  best  friends.  Friendship  is  an  order  of 
nobility;  from  its  revelations  we  come  more  worthily 
into  nature.  Society  he  must  have  or  he  is  poor  indeed  ; 
he  gladly  enters  a  school  which  forbids  conceit,  affecta 
tion,  emphasis  and  dulness,  and  requires  of  each  only 
the  flower  of  his  nature  and  experience  ;  requires  good 
will,  beauty,  wit,  and  select  information  ;  teaches  by 
practice  the  law  of  conversation,  namely,  to  hear  as  well 
as  to  speak. 

Meantime,  if  circumstances  do  not  permit  the  high 
social  advantages,  solitude  has  also  its  lessons.  The  ob 
scure  youth  learns  there  the  practice  instead  of  the  lit- 


KDt'CATION.  115 

erature  of  his  virtues;  and,  because  of  the  disturbing 
effect  of  passion  and  sense,  which  by  a  multitude  of 
trifles  impede  the  mind's  eve  from  the  quiet  search  of 
that  fine  horizon-line  which  truth  keeps,  —  the  way  to 
knowledge  and  power  has  ever  been  an  escape  from  too 
much  engagement  with  affairs  and  possessions;  a  way, 
not  through  plenty  and  superfluity,  but  by.  denial  and 
renunciation,  into  solitude  and  privation;  and,  the  more 
is  taken  away,  the  more  real  and  inevitable  wealth  of 
being  is  made  known  to  us.  The  solitary  knows  the 
essence  of  the  thought,  the  scholar  in  society  only  its 
fair  face.  There  is  no  want  of  example  of  great  men, 
great  benefactors,  who  have  been  monks  and  hermits  in 
habit.  The  bias  of  mind  is  sometimes  irresistible  in 
that  direction.  The  man  is,  as  it  were,  born  deaf  and 
dumb,  and  dedicated  to  a  narrow  and  lonely  life.  Let 
him  study  the  art  of  solitude,  yield  as  gracefully  as  he 
can  to  his  destiny.  Why  cannot  he  get  the  good  of  his 
doom,  and  if  it  is  from  eternity  a  settled  fact  that  he 
and  society  shall  be  nothing  to  each  other,  why  need  he 
blush  so,  and  make  wry  faces  to  keep  up  a  freshman's 
seat  in  the  fine  world  ?  Heaven  often  protects  valuable 
souls  charged  witli  great  secrets,  great  ideas,  by  long 
shutting  them  up  with  their  own  thoughts.  And  the 
most  genial  and  amiable  of  men  must  alternate  society 
with  solitude,  and  learn  its  severe  lessons. 

There  comes  the  period  of  the  imagination  to  each,  a 
later  youth;  the  power  of  beauty,  the  power  of  books, 
of  poetry.  Culture  makes  his  books  realities  to  him, 
their  characters  more  brilliant,  more  effective  on  his 
mind,  than  his  actual  mates.  Do  not  spare  to  put 
novels  into  the  hands  of  young  people  as  an  occasional 


116  EDUCATION. 

holiday  and  experiment;  but,  above  all,  good  poetry  in 
all  kinds,  epic,  tragedy,  lyric.  If  we  can  touch  the  im 
agination,  we  serve  them,  they  will  never  forget  it.  Let 
him  read  "  Tom  Brown  at  Rugby,"  read  "  Tom  Brown 
at  Oxford,"  —  better  yet,  read  "  Hodsoii's  Life  "  —  Hod- 
son  who  took  prisoner  the  king  of  Delhi.  They  teach 
the  same  truth,  —  a  trust,  against  all  appearam-es, 
against  all  privations,  in  your  own  worth,  and  not  in 
tricks,  plotting,  or  patronage. 

I  believe  that  our  own  experience  instructs  us  that 
the  secret  of  Education  lies  in  respecting  the  pupil.  It 
is  not  for  you  to  choose  what  he  shall  know,  what  he 
shall  do.  It  is  chosen  and  foreordained,  and  he  only 
holds  the  key  to  his  own  secret.  By  your  tampering 
and  thwarting  and  too  much  governing  he  may  be 
hindered  from  his  end  and  kept  out  of  his  own.  Re 
spect  the  child.  Wait  and  see  the  new  product  of 
Nature.  Nature  loves  analogies,  but  not  repetitions. 
Respect  the  child.  Be  not  too  much  his  parent.  Tres 
pass  not  on  his  solitude. 

But  I  hear  the  outcry  which  replies  to  this  sugges 
tion  :  —  Would  you  verily  throw  up  the  reins  of  public 
and  private  discipline;  would  you  leave  the  young  child 
to  the  mad  career  of  his  own  passions  and  whimsies, 
and  call  this  anarchy  a  respect  for  the  child's  nature  ? 
I  answer,  —  Respect  the  child,  respect  him  to  the  end, 
but  also  respect  yourself.  Be  the  companion  of  his 
thought,  the  friend  of  his  friendship,  the  lover  of  his 
virtue,  —  but  no  kinsman  of  his  sin.  Let  him  find  you 
so  true  to  yourself  that  you  are  the  irreconcilable  hater 
of  his  vice  and  the  imperturbable  slighter  of  his  trifling. 

The  two  points  in  a  boy's  training  are,  to  keep  his 
wturel  and  train  off  all  but  that  :  —  to  keep  his  naturel, 


EDUCATION.  117 

but  stop  off  his  uproar,  fooling  and  horse-play;  keep  his 
nature  and  arm  it  with  knowledge  in  the  very  direction 
in  which  it  points.  Here  are  the  two  capital  facts, 
Genius  and  Drill.  The  first  is  the  inspiration  in  the 
well-born  healthy  child,  the  new  perception  he  has  of 
nature.  Somewhat  he  sees  in  forms  or  hears  in  music 
or  apprehends  in  mathematics,  or  believes  practicable  in 
mechanics  or  possible  in  political  society,  which  no  one 
else  sees  or  hears  or  believes.  This  is  the  perpetual 
romance  of  new  life,  the  invasion  of  God  into  the  old 
dead  world,  when  he  sends  into  quiet  houses  a  young 
soul  with  a  thought  which  is  not  met,  looking  for  some 
thing  which  is  not  there,  but  which  ought  to  be  there: 
the  thought  is  dim,  but  it  is  sure,  and  he  casts  about 
restless  for  means  and  masters  to  verify  it;  he  makes 
wild  attempts  to  explain  himself  and  invoke  the  aid  and 
consent  of  bystanders.  Baffled  for  want  of  language 
and  methods  to  convey  his  meaning,  not  yet  clear  to 
himself,  he  conceives  that  though  not  in  this  house  or 
town,  yet  in  some  other  house  or  town  is  the  wise  mas 
ter  who  can  put  him  in  possession  of  the  rules  and  in 
struments  to  execute  his  will.  Happy  this  child  with  a 
bias,  with  a  thought  which  entrances  him,  leads  him, 
now  into  deserts,  now  into  cities,  the  fool  of  an  idea. 
Let  him  follow  it  in  good  and  in  evil  report,  in  good  or 
bad  company;  it  will  justify  itself;  it  will  lead  him  at 
last  into  the  illustrious  society  of  the  lovers  of  truth. 

In  London,  in  a  private  company,  I  became  ac 
quainted  with  a  gentleman,  Sir  Charles  Fellowes,  who, 
being  at  Xanthus,  in  the  ^Egean  Sea,  had  seen  a  Turk 
point  with  his  staff  to  some  carved  work  on  the  corner 
of  a  stone  almost  buried  in  tho  so'l.  Fellowes  scraped 
away  the  dirt,  was  struck  with  tiie  ojauty  of  the  sculp- 


118  EDUCATION. 

tured  ornaments,  and,  looking  about  him,  observed  more 
blocks  and  fragments  like  this.  He  returned  to  the 
spot,  procured  laborers  and  uncovered  many  blocks. 
He  went  back  to  England,  bought  a  Greek  grammar 
and  learned  the  language;  he  read  history  and  studied 
ancient  art  to  explain  his  stones;  he  interested  Gibson 
the  sculptor;  he  invoked  the  assistance  of  the  English 
Government;  he  called  in  the  succor  of  Sir  Humphry 
Davy  to  analyze  the  pigments;  of  experts  in  coins,  of 
scholars  and  connoisseurs ;  and  at  last  in  his  third  visit 
brought  home  to  England  such  statues  and  marble  re 
liefs  and  such  careful  plans  that  he  was  able  to  re 
construct,  in  the  British  Museum  where  it  now  stands, 
the  perfect  model  of  the  Ionic  trophy-monument,  fifty 
years  older  than  the  Parthenon  of  Athens,  and  which 
had  been  destroyed  by  earthquakes,  then  by  iconoclast 
Christians,  then  by  savage  Turks.  But  mark  that  in 
the  task  he  had  achieved  an  excellent  education,  and 
become  associated  with  distinguished  scholars  whom  he 
had  interested  in  his  pursuit;  in  short,  had  formed  a 
college  for  himself;  the  enthusiast  had  found  the  mas 
ter,  the  masters,  whom  he  sought.  Always  genius  seeks 
genius,  desires  nothing  so  much  as  to  be  a  pupil  and  to 
find  those  who  can  lend  it  aid  to  perfect  itself. 

Nor  are  the  two  elements,  enthusiasm  and  drill,  in 
compatible.  Accuracy  is  essential  to  beauty.  The  very 
definition  of  the  intellect  is  Aristotle's:  "that  by  which 
we  know  terms  or  boundaries."  Give  a  boy  accurate 
perceptions.  Teach  him  the  difference  between  the 
similar  and  the  same.  Make  him  call  tilings  by  their 
righl;  names.  Pardon  in  him  no  blunder.  Then  he  will 
give  you  solid  satisfaction  as  long  as  he  lives.  It  is 
better  to  teach  the  child  arithmetic  and  Latin  grammai 


EDUCATION.  11  & 

than  rhetoric  or  moral  philosophy,  because  they  require 
exactitude  of  performance;  it  is  made  certain  that  the 
lesson  is  mastered,  and  that  power  of  performance  is 
worth  more  than  the  knowledge.  He  can  learn  any 
thing  which  is  important  to  him  now  that  the  power  to 
learn  is  secured :  as  mechanics  say,  when  one  has  learned 
the  use  of  tools,  it  is  easy  to  work  at  a  new  craft. 

Letter  by  letter,  syllable  by  syllable,  the  child  learns 
to  read,  and  in  good  time  can  convey  to  all  the  domestic 
circle  the  sense  of  Shakspeare.  By  many  steps  each 
just  as  short,  the  stammering  boy  and  the  hesitating 
collegian,  in  the  school  debate,  in  college  clubs,  in  mock 
court,  comes  at  last  to  full,  secure,  triumphant  unfold 
ing  of  his  thought  in  the  popular  assembly,  with  a  ful 
ness  of  power  that  makes  all  the  steps  forgotten. 

But  this  function  of  opening  and  feeding  the  human 
mind  is  not  to  be  fulfilled  by  any  mechanical  or  military 
method  ;  is  not  to  be  trusted  to  any  skill  less  large 
than  Nature  itself.  You  must  not  neglect  the  form, 
but  you  must  secure  the  essentials.  It  is  curious  how 
perverse  and  intermeddling  we  are,  and  what  vast  pains 
and  cost  we  incur  to  do  wrong.  Whilst  we  all  know  in 
our  own  experience  and  apply  natural  methods  in  our 
own  business,  —  in  education  our  common  sense  fails 
us,  and  we  are  continually  trying  costly  machinery 
against  nature,  in  patent  schools  and  academies  and  in 
great  colleges  and  universities. 

The  natural  method  forever  confutes  our  experi 
ments,  and  we  must  still  come  back  to  it.  The  whole 
theory  of  the  school  is  on  the  nurse's  or  mother's  knee. 
The  child  is  as  hot  to  learn  as  the  mother  is  to  impart. 
There  is  mutual  delight.  The  joy  of  our  childhood  in 
hearing  beautiful  stories  from  some  skilful  aunt  who 


120  EDUCATION. 

loves  to  tell  them,  must  be  repeated  in  youth.  The  boy 
wishes  to  learn  to  skate,  to  coast,  to  catch  a  fish  in  the 
brook,  to  hit  a  mark  with  a  snowball  or  a  stone  ;  and  a 
boy  a  little  older  is  just  as  well  pleased  to  teach  him 
these  sciences.  Not  less  delightful  is  the  mutual  pleas 
ure  of  teaching  and  learning  the  secret  of  algebra,  or 
of  chemistry,  or  of  good  reading  and  good  recitation 
of  poetry  or  of  prose,  or  of  chosen  facts  in  history  or 
in  biography. 

Nature  providsd  for  the  communication  of  thought, 
by  planting  with  it  in  the  receiving  mind  a  fury  to  im 
part  it.  'T  is  so  in  every  art,  in  every  science.  One 
burns  to  tell  the  new  fact,  the  other  burns  to  hear  it. 
See  how  far  a  young  doctor  will  ride  or  walk  to  witness 
a  new  surgical  operation.  I  have  seen  a  carriage-mak 
er's  shop  emptied  of  all  its  workmen  into  the  street,  to 
scrutinize  a  new  pattern  from  New  York.  So  in  litera 
ture,  the  young  man  who  has  taste  for  poetry,  for  fine 
images,  for  noble  thoughts,  is  insatiable  for  this  nourish 
ment,  and  forgets  all  the  world  for  the  more  learned 
friend,  —  who  finds  equal  joy  in  dealing  out  his  treas 
ures. 

Happy  the  natural  college  thus  self-instituted  around 
every  natural  teacher  :  the  young  men  of  Athens 
around  Socrates  ;  of  Alexandria  around  Plotinus  ;  of 
Paris  around  Abelard  ;  of  Germany  around  Fichte,  or 
Niebuhr,  or  Goethe  :  in  short  the  natural  sphere  of 
every  leading  mind.  But  the  moment  this  is  organized, 
difficulties  begin.  The  college  was  to  be  the  nurse  and 
home  of  genius  ;  but,  though  every  young  man  is  born 
with  some  determination  in  his  nature,  and  is  a  poten 
tial  genius  ;  is  at  last  to  be  one  ;  it  is,  in  the  most,  ob 
structed  and  delayed,  and,  whatever  they  may  hereafter 


EDUCATION.  121 

be,  their  senses  are  now  opened  in  advance  of  their 
minds.  They  are  more  sensual  than  intellectual.  Ap 
petite  and  indolence  they  have,  but  no  enthusiasm. 
These  come  in  numbers  to  the  college  :  few  geniuses  : 
and  the  teaching  comes  to  be  arranged  for  these  many, 
and  not  for  those  few.  Hence  the  instruction  seems  to 
require  skilful  tutors,  of  accurate  and  systematic  mind, 
rather  than  ardent  and  inventive  masters.  Besides,  the 
youth  of  genius  are  eccentric,  won't  drill,  are  irritable, 
uncertain,  explosive,  solitary,  not  men  of  the  world, 
not  good  for  every-day  association.  You  have  to  work 
for  large  classes  instead  of  individuals  ;  you  must  lower 
your  flag  and  reef  your  sails  to  wait  for  the  dull  sail 
ors  ;  you  grow  departmental,  routinary,  military  al 
most  with  your  discipline  and  college  police.  But  what 
doth  such  a  school  to  form  a  great  and  heroic  charac 
ter  ?  What  abiding  Hope  can  it  inspire  ?  What  Re 
former  will  it  nurse  ?  What  poet  will  it  breed  to  sing 
to  the  human  race  ?  What  discoverer  of  Nature's  laws 
will  it  prompt  to  enrich  us  by  disclosing  in  the  mind  the 
statute  which  all  matter  must  obey  ?  What  fiery  soul 
will  it  send  out  to  warm  a  nation  with  his  charity  ?  What 
tranquil  mind  will  it  have  fortified  to  walk  with  meek 
ness  in  private  and  obscure  duties,  to  wait  and  to  suf 
fer  ?  Is  it  not  manifest  that  our  academic  institutions 
should  have  a  wider  scope  ;  that  they  should  not  be 
timid  and  keep  the  ruts  of  the  last  generation,  but  that 
wise  men  thinking  for  themselves  and  heartily  seeking 
the  good  of  mankind,  and  counting  the  cost  of  innova 
tion,  should  dare  to  arouse  the  young  to  a  just  and 
heroic  life  ;  that  the  moral  nature  should  be  addressed 
in  the  school-room,  and  children  should  be  treated  as 
the  high-born  candidates  of  truth  and  virtue  ? 


122  EDUCATION. 

So  to  regard  the  young  child,  the  young  man,  re 
quires,  no  doubt,  rare  patience  :  a  patiance  that  nothing 
but  faith  in  the  remedial  forces  of  the  soul  can  give. 
You  see  his  sensualism  ;  you  see  his  want  of  those  tastes 
and  perceptions  which  make  the  power  and  safety  of 
your  character.  Very  likely.  But  he  has  something 
else.  If  he  has  his  own  vice,  he  has  its  correlative  vir 
tue.  Every  mind  should  be  allowed  to  make  its  own 
statement  in  action,  and  its  balance  will  appear.  In 
these  judgments  one  needs  that  foresight  which  was 
attributed  to  an  eminent  reformer,  of  whom  it  was 
said  "  his  patience  could  see  in  the  bud  of  the  aloe  the 
blossom  at  the  end  of  a  hundred  years."  Alas  for  the 
cripple  Practice  when  it  seeks  to  come  up  with  the  bird 
Theory,  which  flies  before  it.  Try  your  design  on  the 
best  school.  Ths  scholars  are  of  all  ages  and  tempera 
ments  and  capacities.  It  is  difficult  to  class  them, — 
some  are  too  young,  some  are  slow,  some  perverse. 
Each  requires  so  much  consideration,  that  the  morning 
hope  of  the  teacher,  of  a  day  of  love  and  progress,  is 
often  close  J  at  evening  by  despair.  Each  single  case, 
the  more  it  is  considered,  shows  more  to  be  done  ;  and 
the  strict  conditions  of  the  hours,  on  one  side,  and  the 
number  of  tasks,  on  the  other*  Whatever  becomes  of 
our  method,  the  conditions  stand  fast,  —  six  hours,  and 
thirty,  fifty,  or  a  hundred  and  fifty  pupils.  Something 
must  be  done,  and  done  speedily,  and  in  this  distress  the 
wisest  are  tempted  to  adopt  violent  means,  to  proclaim 
martial  law,  corporal  punishment,  mechanical  arrange 
ment,  bribes,  spies,  wrath,  main  strength  and  ignorance, 
in  lieu  of  that  wise  genial  providential  influence  they 
had  hoped,  and  yet  hope  at  some  future  day  to  adopt. 
Of  course  the  devotion  to  details  reacts  injuriously  oil 


EDUCATION.  1 23 

the  teacher.  He  cannot  indulge  his  genius,  he  cannot 
delight  in  personal  relations  with  young  friends,  when 
his  eye  is  always  on  the  clock,  and  twenty  classes  are  to 
be  dealt  with  before  the  day  is  done.  Besides,  how  can 
he  please  himself  with  genius,  and  foster  modest  virtue? 
A  sure  proportion  of  rogue  and  dunce  finds  its  way  into 
every  school  and  requires  a  cruel  share  of  time,  and  the 
gentle  teacher,  who  wished  to  be  a  Providence  to  youth, 
is  grown  a  martinet,  sore  with  suspicions  ;  knows  as 
much  vice  as  the  judge  of  a  police  court,  and  his  love 
of  learning  is  lost  in  the  routine  of  grammars  and  books 
of  elements. 

A  rule  is  so  easy  that  it  does  not  need  a  man  to  apply 
it ;  an  automaton,  a  machine,  can  be  made  to  keep  a 
school  so.  It  facilitates  labor  and  thought  so  much  that 
there  is  always  the  temptation  in  large  schools  to  omit 
the  endless  task  of  meeting  the  wants  of  each  single 
mind,  and  to  govern  by  steam.  But  it  is 'at  frightful 
cost.  Our  modes  of  Education  aim  to  expedite,  to 
save  labor  ;  to  do  for  masses  what  cannot  be  done  for 
masses,  what  must  be  done  reverently,  one  by  one  :  say 
rather,  the  whole  world  is  needed  for  the  tuition  of 
each  pupil.  The  advantages  of  this  system  of  emula 
tion  and  display  are  so  prompt  and  obvious,  it  is  such  a 
time-saver,  it  is  so  energetic  on  slow  and  on  bad  na 
tures,  and  is  of  so  easy  application,  needing  no  sage  or 
poet,  but  any  tutor  or  schoolmaster  in  his  first  term  can 
apply  it,  —  that  it  is  not  strange  that  this  calomel  of 
culture  should  be  a  popular  medicine.  On  the  other 
hand,  total  abstinence  from  this  drug,  and  the. adoption 
of  simple  discipline  and  the  following  of  nature,  in 
volves  at  once  immense  claims  on  the  time,  the  thoughts, 
on  tli3  life  of  tb.3  teacaer.  It  requires  time,  u&e,  in- 


124  EDUCATION. 

sight,  event,  all  the  great  lessons  and  assistances  of 
God  ;  and  only  to  think  of  using  it  implies  character 
and  profoundness  j  to  enter  on  this  course  of  discipline 
is  to  be  good  and  great.  It  is  precisely  analogous  to  the 
difference  between  the  use  of  corporal  punishment  and 
the  methods  of  love.  It  is  so  easy  to  bestow  on  a  bad 
boy  a  blow,  overpower  him,  and  get  obedience  without 
words,  that  in  this  world  of  hurry  and  distraction,  who 
can  wait  for  the  returns  of  reason  and  the  conquest  of 
self  ;  in  the  uncertainty  too  whether  that  will  ever 
come  ?  And  yet  the  familiar  observation  of  the  uni 
versal  compensations  might  suggsst  the  fear  that  so 
summary  a  stop  of  a  bad  humor  was  more  jeopardous 
than  its  continuance. 

Now  the  correction  of  tin's  quack  practice  is  to  im 
port  into  Education  the  wisdom  of  life.  Leave  this 
military  hurry  and  adopt  the  pace  of  Nature.  Her  se 
cret  is  patience.  Do  you  know  how  the  naturalist 
learns  all  the  secrets  of  the  forest,  of  plants,  of  birds, 
of  beasts,  of  reptiles,  of  fishes,  of  the  rivers  and  the 
sea  ?  When  he  goes  into  the  woods  the  birds  fly  before 
him  and  he  finds  none ;  when  he  goes  to  the  river  bank, 
the  fish  and  the  reptile  swim  away  and  leave  him  alone. 
His  secret  is  patience;  he  sits  down,  and  sits  still;  he  is 
a  statue;  he  is  a  log.  These  creatures  have  no  value  for 
their  time,  and  he  must  put  as  low  a  rate  on  his.  By 
dint  of  obstinate  sitting  still,  reptile,  fish,  bird  and  beast, 
which  all  wish  to  return  to  their  haunts,  begin  to  return. 
He  sits  still  ;  if  they  approach,  ho  remains  passive  as 
the  stone  he  sits  upon.  They  lose  their  fear.  They 
have  curiosity  too  about  him.  By  and  by  the  curiosity 
masters  the  fear,  and  they  come  swimming,  creeping 
and  flying  towards  him  ;  and  as  he  is  still  immovable, 


EDUCATION.  125 

they  not  only  resume  their  haunts  and  their  ordinary 
labors  and  manners,  show  themselves  to  him  in  their 
work-day  trim,  but  also  volunteer  some  degree  of  ad 
vances  towards  fellowship  and  good  understanding  with 
a  biped  who  behaves  so  civilly  and  well.  Can  you  not 
bailie  tlie  impatience  and  passion  of  the  child  by  your 
tranquillity  ?  Can  you  not  wait  for  him,  ?is  Nature  and 
Providence  do  ?  Can  you  not  keep  for  bis  mind  and 
ways,  for  his  secret,  the  same  curiosity  you  give  to  the 
squirrel,  snake,  rabbit,  and  the  sheldrake  and  the  deer  ? 
He  has  a  secret  ;  wonderful  methods  in  him  ;  he  is,  — 
every  child, — a  new  style  of  man  ;  give  him  time  and 
opportunity.  Talk  of  Columbus  and  Newton  !  I  tell 
you  the  child  just  born  in  yonder  hovel  is  the  beginning 
of  a  revolution  as  great  as  theirs.  But  you  must  have 
the  believing  and  prophetic  eye.  Have  the  self-com 
mand  you  wish  to  inspire.  Your  teaching  and  disci 
pline  must  have  the  reserve  and  taciturnity  of  Nature. 
Teach  them  to  hold  their  tongues  by  holding  your  own. 
Say  little  ;  do  not  snarl ;  do  not  chide  ;  but  govern  by 
the  eye.  See  what  they  need,  and  that  the  right  thing 
is  done. 

I  confess  myself  utterly  at  a  loss  in  suggesting  par 
ticular  reforms  in  our  ways  of  teaching.  No  discretion 
that  can  be  lodged  with  a  school-committee,  with  the 
overseers  or  visitors  of  an  academy,  of  a  college,  can  at 
all  avail  to  reach  these  difficulties  and  perplexities,  but 
they  solve  themselves  when  we  leave  institutions  and 
address  individuals.  The  will,  the  male  power,  organ 
izes,  imposes  its  own  thought  and  wish  on  others,  and 
makes  that  military  eye  which  controls  boys  as  it  con 
trols  men  ;  admirable  in  its  results,  a  fortune  to  him 
v-'ho  has  it,  and  only  dangerous  when  it  leads  the  work- 


1 2  )  EDUCATION. 

man  to  overvalue  and  overuse  it  and  precludes  him 
from  finer  means.  Sympathy,  the  female  force,  — 
which  they  must  use  who  have  not  the  first,  —  deficient 
in  instant  control  and  the  breaking  down  of  resistance, 
is  more  subtle  and  lasting  and  creative.  I  advise  teach 
ers  to  cherish  mother-wit.  I  assume  that  you  will  keep 
the  grammar,  reading,  writing  and  arithmetic  in  order  ; 
'tis  easy,  and  of  course  you  will.  But  smuggle  in  a 
little  contraband  wit,  fancy,  imagination,  thought.  If 
you  have  a  taste  which  you  have  suppressed  because  it 
is  not  shared  by  those  about  you,  tell  them  that.  Set 
this  law  up,  whatever  becomes  of  the  rules  of  the  school: 
they  must  not  whisper,  much  less  talk  ;  but  if  one  of 
the  young  people  says  a  wise  thing,  greet  it,  and  let 
all  the  children  clap  their  hands.  They  shall  have  no 
book  but  school-books  in  the  room  ;  but  if  one  has 
brought  in  a  Plutarch  or  Shakspeare  or  Don  Quixote  or 
Goldsmith  or  any  other  good  book,  and  understands 
what  he  reads,  put  him  at  once  at  the  head  of  the  class. 
Nobody  shall  bs  disorderly,  or  leave  his  desk  without 
permission,  but  if  a  boy  runs  from  his  bench,  or  a  girl, 
because  the  fire  falls,  or  to  check  some  injury  that  a 
little  dastard  is  inflicting  behind  his  desk  on  some  help 
less  sufferer,  take  away  the  medal  from  the  head  of  the 
class  and  give  it  on  the  instant  to  the  brave  rescuer.  If 
a  child  happens  to  show  that  he  knows  any  fact  about 
astronomy,  or  plants,  or  birds,  or  rocks,  or  history,  that 
interests  him  and  you,  hush  all  the  classes  and  encour 
age  him  to  tell  it  so  that  all  may  hear.  Then  you  have 
made  your  school-room  like  the  world.  Of  course  you 
will  insist  o  i  modesty  in  the  children,  *and  respect  to 
their  teachers,  but  if  the  boy  stops  you  in  your  speech, 
cries  out  that  you  are  wrong  and  sets  you  right,  hug 
him  ! 


EDUCATION.  127 

• 

To  whatsoever  upright  mind,  to  whatsoever  beating 
heart  I  speak,  to  you  it  is  committed  to  educate  men. 
By  simple  living,  by  an  illimitable  soul,  you  inspire,  you 
correct,  you  instruct,  you  raise,  you  embellish  all.  By 
your  own  act  you  teach  the  beholder  how  to  do  the 
practicable.  According  to  the  depth  from  which  you 
draw  your  life,  such  is  the  depth  not  only  of  your  stren 
uous  effort,  but  of  your  manners  and  presence. 

The  beautiful  nature  of  the  world  has  here  blended 
your  happiness  with  your  power.  Work  straight  on  in 
absolute  duty,  and  you  lend  an  arm  and  an  encourage 
ment  to  all  the  youth  of  the  universe.  Consent  your 
self  to  be  an  organ  of  your  highest  thought,  and  lo ! 
suddenly  you  put  all  men  in  your  debt,  and  are  the 
fountain  of  an  energy  that  goes  pulsing  on  with  waves 
of  benefit  to  the  borders  of  society,  to  the  circumference 
of  things. 


THE   SUPERLATIVE. 


WHEN  wrath  and  terror  changed  Jove's  regal  port 
And  the  rash-leaping  thunderbolt  fell  short. 


For  Art,  for  Music  overtbrilled, 

The  wine-cup  shakes,  the  wine  is  spilled. 


THE  SUPERLATIVE.1 


THE  doctrine  of  temperance  is  one  of  many  degrees. 
It  is  usually  taught  on  a  low  platform,  but  one  of  great 
necessity,  —  that  of  meats  and  drinks,  and  its  impor 
tance  cannot  be  denied  and  hardly  exaggerated.  But 
it  is  a  long  way  from  the  Maine  Law  to  the  heights  of 
absolute  self-command  which  respect  the  conservatism 
of  the  entire  energies  of  the  body,  the  mind,  and  the 
soul.  I  wish  to  point  at  some  of  its  higher  functions  as 
it  enters  into  mind  and  character. 

There  is  a  superlative  temperament  which  has  no 
medium  range,  but  swiftly  oscillates  from  the  freezing 
to  the  boiling  point,  and  which  affects  the  manners  of 
those  who  share  it  with  a  certain  desperation.  Their 
aspect  is  grimace.  They  go  cearing,  convulsed  through 
life,  —  wailing,  praying,  exclaiming,  swearing.  We 
talk,  sometimes,  with  people  whose  conversation  would 
lead  you  to  suppose  that  they  had  lived  in  a  museum, 
where  all  the  objects  were  monsters  and  extremes. 
Their  good  people  are  phoanixes ;  their  naughty  are  like 
the  prophet's  figs.  They  use  the  superlative  of  gram 
mar  :  "  most  perfect,"  "  most  exquisite,"  "  most  horri 
ble."  Like  the  French,  they  are  enchanted,  they  are 
desolate,  because  you  have  got  or  have  not  got  a  shoe~ 
«  Reprinted  from  the  Century  of  February,  1882. 


132  THE   SUPERLATIVE. 

string  or  a  wafer  you  happen  to  want,  —  not  perceiving 
that  superlatives  are  diminutives,  and  weaken  ;  that  the 
positive  is  the  sinew  of  speech,  the  superlative  the  fat. 
If  the  talker  lose  a  tooth,  he  thinks  the  universal  thaw 
and  dissolution  of  things  has  come.  Controvert  his 
opinion  and  he  cries  "  Persecution  !  "  and  reckons  him 
self  with  Saint  Barnabas,  who  was  sawn  in  two. 

Especially  we  note  this  tendency  to  extremes  in  the 
pleasant  excitement  of  horror-mongers.  Is  there  some 
thing  so  delicious  in  disasters  and  pain  ?  Bad  news  is 
always  exaggerated,  and  we  may  challenge  Providence 
to  send  a  fact  so  tragical  that  we  cannot  contrive  to 
make  it  a  little  worse  in  our  gossip. 

All  this  comes  of  poverty.  We  are  unskilful  definers. 
From  want  of  skill  to  convey  quality,  we  hope  to  move 
admiration  by  quantity.  Language  should  aim  to  de 
scribe  the  fact.  It  is  not  enough  to  suggest  it  and 
magnify  it.  Sharper  sight  would  indicate  the  true 
line.  'Tis  very  wearisome,  this  straining  talk,  these 
experiences  all  exquisite,  intense  and  tremendous,  — 
" The  best  I  ever  saw  ; "  "I  never  in  my  life  !  "  One 
wishes  these  terms  gazetted  and  forbidden.  Every 
favorite  is  not  a  cherub,  nor  every  cat  a  griffin,  nor  each 
unpleasing  person  a  dark,  diabolical  intriguer  ;  nor  ago 
nies,  excruciations  nor  ecstasies  our  daily  bread. 

Horace  Walpole  relates  that  in  the  expectation,  cur 
rent  in  London  a  century  ago,  of  a  great  earthquake, 
some  people  provided  themselves  with  dresses  for  the 
occasion.  But  one  would  not  wear  earthquake  dresses 
or  resurrection  robes  for  a  working  jacket,  nor  make  a 
codicil  to  his  will  whenever  he  goes  out  to  ride  ;  and 
the  secrets  of  death,  judgment  and  eternity  are  tedious 
when  recurring  as  minute-guns.  Thousands  of  people 


THE   SUPERLATIVE.  133 

live  and  die  who  were  never,  on  a  single  occasion,  hun 
gry  or  thirsty,  or  furious  or  terrified.  The  books  say, 
"  It  made  my  hair  stand  on  end  !  "  Who  in  our  mu 
nicipal  life,  ever  had  such  an  experience  ?  Indeed, 
I  believe  that  much  of  the  rhetoric  of  terror,  —  "  It 
froze  my  blood,"  "  It  made  my  knees  knock,"  etc.  — 
most  men  have  realized  only  in  dreams  and  night 
mares. 

Then  there  is  an  inverted  superlative,  or  superlative 
contrary,  which  shivers,  like  Demophoon,  in  the  sun  : 
wants  fan  and  parasol  on  the  cold  Friday  ;  is  tired  by 
sleep  ;  feeds  on  drugs  and  poisons  ;  finds  the  rainbow  a 
discoloration  ;  hates  birds  and  flowers. 

The  exaggeration  of  which  I  complain  makes  plain 
fact  the  more  welcome  and  refreshing.  It  is  curious 
that  a  face  magnified  in  a  concave  mirror  loses  its  ex 
pression.  All  this  overstatement  is  needless.  A  little 
fact  is  worth  a  whole  limbo  of  dreams,  and  I  can  well 
spare  the  exaggerations  which  appear  to  me  screens  to 
conceal  ignorance.  Among  these  glorifiers,  the  coldest 
stickler  for  names  and  dates  and  measures  cannot  lament 
his  criticism  and  coldness  of  fancy.  Think  how  much 
piins  astronomers  and  opticians  have  taken  to  procure 
an  achromatic  lens.  Discovery  in  the  heavens  has 
waited  for  it  ;  discovery  on  the  face  of  the  earth  not 
less.  I  hear  without  sympathy  the  complaint  of  young 
and  ardent  persons  that  they  find  life  no  region  of  ro 
mance,  with  no  enchanter,  no  giant,  no  fairies,  nor  even 
muses.  I  am  very  much  indebted  to  my  eyes,  and  am 
content  that  they  should  see  the  real  world,  always  geo 
metrically  finished  without  blur  or  halo.  The  more  I 
am  engaged  with  it  the  more  it  suffices. 

How  impatient  we  are,  in  these  northern  latitudes,  of 


134  THE   SUPERLATIVE. 

looseness  and  intemperance  in  speech  !  Our  measure 
of  success  is  the  moderation  and  low  level  of  an  individ 
ual's  judgment.  Dr.  Channiiig's  piety  and  wisdom  had 
such  weight  that,  in  Boston,  the  popular  idea  of  relig 
ion  was  whatever  this  eminent  divine  held.  But  I  re 
member  that  his  best  friend,  a  man  of  guarded  lips, 
speaking  of  him  in  a  circle  of  his  admirers,  said  :  "  I 
have  known  him  long,  I  have  studied  his  character,  and 
I  believe  him  capable  of  virtue."  An  eminent  French 
journalist  paid  a  high  compliment  to  the  Duke  of  Wel 
lington,  when  his  documents  were  published  :  "  Here 
are  twelve  volumes  of  military  dispatches,  and  the  word 
glory  is  not  found  in  them." 

The  English  mind  is  arithmetical,  values  exactness, 
likes  literal  statement;  stigmatizes  any  heat  or  hyper 
bole  as  Irish,  French,  Italian,  and  infers  weakness  and 
inconsequence  of  character  in  speakers  who  use  it.  It 
does  not  love  the  superlative  but  the  positive  degree. 
Our  customary  and  mechanical  existence  is  not  favor 
able  to  flights;  long  nights  and  frost  hold  us  pretty  fast 
to  realities.  The  people  of  English  stock,  in  all  coun 
tries,  are  a  solid  people,  wearing  good  hats  and  shoes, 
and  owners  of  land  whose  title-deeds  are  properly  re 
corded.  Their  houses  are  of  wood,  and  briok,  and  stone, 
not  designed  to  reel  in  earthquakes,  nor  blow  about 
through  the  air  much  in  hurricanes,  nor  to  be  lost  under 
sand-drifts,  nor  to  be  made  bonfires  of  by  whimsical 
viziers;  but  to  stand  as  commodious,  rentable  tenements 
for  a  century  or  two.  All  our  manner  of  life  is  on  a 
secure  and  moderate  pattern,  such  as  can  last.  Violence 
and  extravagance  are,  once  for  all,  distasteful;  compe 
tence,  quiet,  comfort,  are  the  agreed  welfare. 

Ever  a  low  style  is  best.     "  I  judge  by  every  man's 


THE    SUPERLATIVE.  135 

truth  of  his  degree  of  understanding,"  said  Chesterfield. 
And  I  do  not  know  any  advantage  more  conspicuous 
which  a  man  owes  to  his  experience  in  markets  and  the 
Exchange,  or  politics,  than  the  caution  and  accuracy  he 
acquires  in  his  report  of  facts.  "  Uncle  Joel's  news  is 
always  true,"  said  a  person  to  me  with  obvious  satisfac 
tion,  and  said  it  justly;  for  the  old  head,  after  deceiving 
;iu;l  being  deceived  many  times,  thinks,  "  What 's  the 
me  of  having  to  unsay  to-day  what  I  said  yesterday  ? 
I  will  not  be  responsible ;  I  will  not  add  an  epithet.  I 
will  be  as  moderate  as  the  fact,  and  will  use  the  same 
expression,  without  color,  which  I  received;  and  rather 
repeat  it  several  times,  word  for  word,  than  vary  it  ever 
so  little." 

The  first  valuable  power  in  a  reasonable  mind,  one 
would  say,  was  the  power  of  plain  statement,  or  the 
power  to  receive  things  as  they  befall,  and  to  transfer 
the  picture  of  them  to  another  mind  unaltered.  'T  is  a 
good  rule  of  rhetoric  which  Schlegel  gives,  —  "In  good 
prosi-,  every  word  is  under-scored;"  which,  I  suppose, 
msans,  Never  italicize. 

Spartans,  stoics,  heroes,  saints  and  gods  use  a  short 
and  positive  speech.  They  are  never  off  their  centres. 
As  soon  as  they  swell  and  paint  and  find  truth  not 
enough  for  them,  softening  of  the  brain  has  already  be 
gun.  It  seems  as  if  inflation  were  a'disease  incident  to 
too  much  use  of  words,  and  the  remedy  lay  in  recourse 
to  things.  I  ani  daily  struck  with  the  forcible  under 
statement  of  people  who  have  no  literary  habit.  The 
low  expression  is  strong  and  agreeable.  The  citizen 
dwells  in  delusions.  His  dress  and  draperies,  house 
and  stables,  occupy  him.  The  poor  countryman,  having 
uo  circumstance  of  carpets,  coaches,  dinners,  wine  and 


136  THE   SUPERLATIVE. 

dancing  in  his  head  to  confuse  him,  is  able  to  look 
straight  at  you,  without  refraction  or  prismatic  glories, 
and  he  sees  whether  you  see  straight  also,  or  whether 
your  head  is  addled  by  this  mixture  of  wines. 

The  common  people  diminish:  "a  cold  snap;"  "it 
rains  easy;"  "  good  haying  weather."  When  a  farmer 
means  to  tell  you  that  he  is  doing  well  with  his  farm, 
he  says,  "  I  don't  work  as  hard  as  I  did,  and  I  don't 
mean  to."  When  he  wishes  to  condemn  any  treatment 
of  soils  or  of  stock,  he  says,  "  It  won't  do  any  good." 
Under  the  Catskill  Mountains  the  boy  in  the  steamboat 
said,  "  Come  up  here,  Tony;  it  looks  pretty  out-of- 
doors."  The  farmers  in  the  region  do  not  call  particular 
summits,  as  Killington,  Camel's  Hump,  Saddle-back,  etc., 
mountains,  but  only,  "  them  'ere  rises,"  and  reserve  the 
word  mountains  for  the  range. 

I  once  attended  a  dinner  given  to  a  great  state  func 
tionary  by  functionaries,  —  men  of  law,  state,  and  trade. 
The  guest  was  a  great  man  in  his  own  country  and  an 
honored  diplomatist  in  this.  His  health  was  drunk  with 
some  acknowledgment  of  his  distinguished  services  to 
both  countries,  and  followed  by  nine  cold  hurrahs. 
There  was  the  vicious  superlative.  Ther  the  great 
official  spoke  and  beat  his  breast,  and  declared  that  he 
should  remember  this  honor  to  the  latest  moment  of  his 
existence.  He  was  answered  again  by  officials.  Pity, 
thought  I,  they  should  lie  so  about  their  keen  sensibility 
to  the  nine  cold  hurrahs  and  to  the  commonplace  com 
pliment  of  a  dinner.  Men  of  the  world  value  truth,  in 
proportion  to  their  ability;  not  by  its  sacredness,  but 
for  its  convenience.  Of  such,  especially  of  diplomatists, 
one  has  a  right  to  expect  wit  and  ingenuity  to  avoid  the 
lie  if  they  must  comply  with  the  form.  Now*  I  had 


THE   SUPERLATIVE.  137 

been  present,  a  little  before,  in  the  country  at  a  cattle- 
show  dinner,  which  followed  an  agricultural  discourse 
delivered  by  a  farmer:  the  discourse,  to  say  the  truth, 
was  bad;  and  one  of  our  village  fathers  gave  at  the 
dinner  this  toast:  "The  orator  of  the  day:  his  subject 
deserves  the  attention  of  every  farmer."  The  caution 
of  the  toast  did  honor  to  our  village  father.  I  wish 
great  lords  and  diplomatists  had  as  much  respect  for 
truth.  • 

But  whilst  thus  everything  recommends  simplicity 
and  temperance  of  action;  the  utmost  directness,  the 
positive  degree,  we  mean  thereby  that  "  rightly  to  be 
great  is  not  to  stir  without  great  argument."  When 
ever  the  true  objects  of  action  appear,  they  are  to  be 
heartily  sought.  Enthusiasm  is  the  height  of  man;  it  is 
the  passing  from  the  human  to  the  divine. 

The  superlative  is  as  good  as  the  positive,  if  it  be 
alive.  If  man  loves  the  conditioned,  he  also  loves  the 
unconditioned.  We  don't  wish  to  sin  on  the  other  side, 
and  to  be  purists,  nor  to  check  the  invention  of  wit  or 
the  sally  of  humor.  'T  is  very  different,  this  weak  and 
wearisome  lie,  from  the  stimulus  to  the  fancy  which  is 
givtju  by  a  romancing  talker  who  does  not  mean  to  l)e 
exactly  taken,  —  like  the  gallant  skipper  who  com 
plained  to  his  owners  that  he  had  pumped  the  Atlantic 
Ocean  three  times  through  his  ship  on  the  passage,  and 
!t  was  common  to  strike  seals  and  porpoises  in  the  hold. 
Or  what  was  similarly  asserted  of  the  late  Lord  Jeffrey, 
at  the  Scottish  bar,  —  an  attentive  auditor  declaring  on 
one  occasion  after  an  argument  of  three  hours,  that  he 
had  spoken  the  whole  English  language  three  times 
over  in  his  speech. 

The  objection  to  unmeasured  speech  is  its  lie.     All 


138  THE    SUPERLATIVE. 

men  like  an  impressive  fact.  The  astronomer  shows 
you  in  his  telescope  the  nebula  of  Orion,  that  you  may 
look  on  that  which  is  esteemed  the  farthest-off  land  in 
visible  nature.  At  the  Bank  of  England  they  put  a 
scrap  of  paper  that  is  worth  a  million  pounds  sterling 
into  the  hands  of  the  visitor  to  touch.  Our  travelling  is 
a  sort  of  search  for  the  superlatives  or  summits  of  art, 
—  much  more  the  real  wonders  of  power  in  the  hu 
man  forul.  The  arithmetic  of  Newton,  the  memory  of 
Magliabeccbi  or  Mirandola,  the  versatility  of  Julius 
Csesar,  the  concentration  of  Bonaparte,  the  inspiration 
of  Shakspeare,  are  sure  of  commanding  interest  and 
awe  in  every  company  of  men. 

The  superlative  is  the  excess  of  expression.  We  are 
a  garrulous,  demonstrative  kind  of  creatures,  and  can 
not  live  without  much  outlet  for  all  our  sense  and  non 
sense.  And  fit  expression  is  so  rare  that  mankind  have 
a  superstitious  value  for  it,  and  it  would  seem  the  whole 
human  race  agree  to  value  a  man  precisely  in  proportion 
to  his  power  of  expression ;  and  to  the  most  expressive 
man  that  has  existed,  namely,  Shakspeare,  they  have 
awarded  the  highest  place. 

The  expressbrs  are  the  gods  of  the  world,  but  the 
men  whom  these  expressors  revere  are  the  solid,  bal 
anced,  undemonstrative  citizens  who  make  the  reserved 
guard,  the  central  sense,  of  the  world.  For  the  lumin 
ous  object  wastes  itself  by  its  shining,  —  is  luminous 
because  it  is  burning  up ;  and  if  the  powers  are  disposed 
for  display,  there  is  all  the  less  left  for  use  and  creation. 
The  talent  sucks  the  substance  of  the  man.  Superla 
tives  must  be  bought  by  too  many  positives.  Gardens 
of  roses  must  be  stripped  to  make  a  few  drops  of  otto. 
And  these  raptures  of  fire  and  frost,  which  indeed 


THE    SUPERLATIVE.  139 

cleanse  pedantry  out  of  conversation  and  make  the 
speech  salt  and  biting,  would  cost  me  the  days  of  well- 
being  which  are  now  so  cheap  to  me,  yet  so  valued.  I 
like  no  deep  stakes.  I  am  a  coward  at  gambling.  I 
will  bask  in  the  common  sun  a  while  longer. 

Children  and  thoughtless  people  like  exaggerated 
event  and  activity  ;  like  to  run  to  a  house  on  fire,  to  a 
fight,  to  an  execution  ;  like  to  talk  of  a  marriage,  of  a 
bankruptcy,  of  a  debt,  of  a  crime.  The  wise  man  shuns 
all  this.  I  knew  a  grave  man  who,  being  urged  to  go  to 
a  church  where  a  clergyman  was  newly  ordained,  said 
"  he  liked  him  very  well,  but  he  would  go  when  the  in 
teresting  Sundays  were  over." 

All  rests  at  last  on  the  simplicity  of  nature,  or  real 
being.  Nothing  is  for  the  most  part  less  esteemed.  We 
are  fond  of  dress,  of  ornament,  of  accomplishments,  of 
talents,  but  distrustful  of  health,  of  soundness,  of  pure 
innocence.  Yet  nature  measures  her  greatness  by  what 
she  can  spare,  by  what  remains  when  all  superfluity  and 
accessories  are  shorn  off. 

Nor  is  there  in  nature  itself  any  swell,  any  brag,  any 
strain  or  shock,  but  a  firm  common  sense  through  all 
her  elephants  and  lions,  through  all  her  ducks  and 
geese  ;  a  true  proportion  between  her  means  and  her 
performance.  Semper  sibi  similis.  You  shall  not  catch 
her  in  any  anomalies,  nor  swaggering  into  any  monsters. 
In  all  the  years  that  I  have  sat  in  town  and  forest,  I 
never  saw  a  winged  dragon,  a  flying  man,  or  a  talking 
fish,  but  ever  the  strictest  regard  to  rule,  and  an  absence 
of  all  surprises.  No  ;  nature  encourages  no  looseness, 
pardons  no  errors  ;  freezes  punctually  at  32°,  boils  punct 
ually  at  212°  ;  crystallizes  in  water  at  one  invariable 
angle,  in  diamond  at  one,  in  granite  at  one  ;  and  if  you 


140  THE   SUPERLATIVE. 

omit  the  smallest  condition  the  experiment  will  not  suc 
ceed.  Her  communication  obeys  the  gospel  rule,  yea 
or  nay.  She  never  expatiates,  never  goes  into  the  rea 
sons.  Plant  beech-mast  and  it  comes  up,  or  it  does  not 
come  up.  Sow  grain,  and  it  does  not  come  np  :  put 
lime  into  the  soil  and  try  again,  and  this  time  she  says 
Yea.  To  every  question  an  abstemious  but  absolute  re 
ply.  The  like  staidness  is  in  her  dealings  with  us.  Na 
ture  is  always  serious,  —  does  not  jest  with  us.  Where 
we  have  begun  in  folly  we  are  brought  quickly  to  plain 
dealing.  Life  could  not  be  carried  on  except  by  fidel 
ity  and  good  earnest  ;  and  she  brings  the  most  heart 
less  trifler  to  determined  purpose  presently.  The  men 
whom  she  admits  to  her  confidence,  the  simple  and 
great  characters,  are  uniformly  marked  by  absence  of 
pretension  and  by  understatement.  The  old  and  mod 
ern  sages  of  clearest  insight  are  plain  men,  who  have 
held  themselves  hard  to  the  poverty  of  nature. 

The  firmest  and  noblest  ground  on  which  people  can 
live  is  truth  ;  the  real  with  the  real  ;  a  ground  on  which 
nothing  is  assumed,  but  where  they  speak  and  think  and 
do  what  they  must,  because  they  are  so  and  not  other 
wise. 

But  whilst  the  basis  of  character  must  be  simplicity, 
the  expression  of  character,  it  must  be  remembered,  is, 
in  great  degree,  a  matter  of  climate.  In  the  temperate 
climates  there  is  a  temperate  speech,  in  torrid  climates 
an  ardent  one.  Whilst  in  Western  nations  the  superla 
tive  in  conversation  is  tedious  and  weak,  and  in  charac 
ter  is  a  capital  defect,  N  attire  delights  in  showing  us 
that  in  the  East  it  is  animated,  it  is  pertinent,  pleasing, 
poetic.  Whilst  she  appoints  us  to  keep  within  the  sharp 
boundaries  of  form  as  the  condition  of  our  strength,  she 


THE   SUPERLATIVE.  141 

creates  in  the  East  the  uncontrollable  yearning  to  es 
cape  from  limitation  into  the  vast  and  boundless  ;  to 
use  a  freedom  of  fancy  which  plays  with  all  the  works 
of  nature,  great  or  minute,  galaxy  or  grain  of  dust,  as 
toys  and  words  of  the  mind  ;  inculcates  the  tenet  of  a 
beatitude  to  be  found  in  escape  from  all  organization 
and  all  personality,  and  makes  ecstasy  an  institution. 

Religion  and  poetry  are  all  the  civilization  of  the 
Arab.  "  The  ground  of  Paradise,"  said  Mohammed,  "  is 
extensive,  and  the  plants  of  it  are  all  hallelujahs."  Re 
ligion  and  poetry  :  the  religion  teaches  an  inexorable 
destiny  ;  it  distinguishes  only  two  days  in  each  man's 
history,  the  day  of  his  lot  and  the  day  of  judgment. 
The  religion  runs  into  asceticism  and  fate.  The  cos 
tume,  the  articles  in  which  wealth  is  displayed,  are  in 
the  same  extremes.  Thus  the  diamond  and  the  pearl, 
which  are  only  accidental  and  secondary  in  their  use 
and  value  to  us,  are  proper  to  the  oriental  world.  The 
diver  dives  a  beggar  and  rises  with  the  price  of  a  king 
dom  in  his  hand.  A  bag  of  sequins,  a  jewel,  a  balsam, 
a  single  horse,  constitute  an  estate  in  countries  where 
insecure  institutions  make  every  one  desirous  of  con- 
cealable  and  convertible  property.  Shall  I  say,  fur 
ther,  that  the  orientals  excel  in  costly  arts,  in  the  cut 
ting  of  precious  stones,  in  working  in  gold,  in  weaving 
on  hand-looms  costly  stuffs  from  silk  and  wool,  in  spices, 
in  dyes  and  drugs,  henna,  otto  and  camphor,  and  in  the 
training  of  slaves,  elephants  and  camels,  —  things  which 
are  the  poetry  and  superlative  of  commerce. 

On  the  other  hand,  —  and  it  is  a  good  illustration  of 
the  difference  of  genius,  —  the  European  nations,  and, 
in  general,  all  nations  in  proportion  to  their  civilization, 
understand  the  manufacture  of  iron.  One  of  the  ine« 


142  THE   SUPERLATIVE. 

ters  of  the  height  to  which  any  civility  rose  is  the  skill 
in  the  fabric  of  iron.  Universally,  the  better  gold,  the 
worse  man.  The  political  economist  defies  us  to  show 
any  gold-mine  country  that  is  traversed  by  good  roads  : 
or  a  shore  where  pearls  are  found  on  which  good  schools 
are  erected.  The  European  civility,  or  that  of 'the  pos 
itive  degree,  is  established  by  coal-mines,  by  ventilation, 
by  irrigation  and  every  skill  —  in  having  water  cheap 
and  pure,  by  iron,  by  agriculture  for  bread-stuffs,  and 
manufacture  of  coarse  and  family  cloths.  Our  modern 
improvements  have  been  in  the  invention  of  friction 
matches  ;  of  India-rubber  shoes  ;  of  the  famous  two 
parallel  bars  of  iron  ;  then  of  the  air-chamber  of  Watt, 
and  of  the  judicious  tubing  of  the  engine,  by  Stephen- 
son,  in  order  to  the  construction  of  locomotives. 

Meantime,  Nature,  who  loves  crosses  and  mixtures, 
makes  these  two  tendencies  necessary  each  to  the  other, 
and  delights  to  re-enforce  each  peculiarity  by  imparting 
the  other.  The  Northern  genius  finds  itself  singularly 
refreshed  and  stimulated  by  the  breadth  and  luxuriance 
of  Eastern  imagery  and  modes  of  thinking,  which  go  to 
check  the  pedantry  of  our  inventions  and  the  excess  of 
our  detail.  There  is  no  writing  which  has  more  elec 
tric  power  to  unbind  and  animate  the  torpid  intellect 
than  the  bold  Eastern  muse. 

If  it  come  back  however  to  the  question  of  final  supe 
riority,  it  is  too  plain  that  there  is  no  question  that  the 
star  of  empire  rolls  West  :  that  the  warm  sons  of  the 
Southeast  have  bent  the  neck  under  the  yoke  of  the 
cold  temperament  and  the  exact  understanding  of  the 
Northwestern  races. 


THE    SOVEREIGNTY    OF   ETHICS. 


THESE  rales  were  writ  in  human  heart 
By  Him  who  built  the  day ; 

The  columns  of  the  universe 
Not  firmer  based  than  they. 


THOU  shalt  not  try 
To  plant  thy  shrivelled  pedantry 
On  the  shoulders  of  the  sky. 


THE  SOVEREIGNTY  OF  ETHICS.1 


SINCE  the  discovery  of  Oersted  that  galvanism  and 
electricity  and  magnetism  are  only  forms  of  one  and 
the  same  force,  and  convertible  each  into  the  other,  we 
have  continually  suggested  to  us  a  larger  generaliza 
tion  :  that  each  of  the  great  departments  of  Nature  — 
chemistry,  vegetation,  the  animal  life  —  exhibits  the 
same  laws  on  a  different  plane  ;  that  the  intellectual 
and  moral  worlds  are  analogous  to  the  material.  There 
is  a  kind  of  latent  omniscience  not  only  in  every  man 
but  in  every  particle.  That  convertibility  we  so  admire 
in  plants  and  animal  structures,  whereby  the  repairs 
and  the  ulterior  uses  are  subserved,  when  one  part  is 
wounded  or  deficient,  by  another  ;  this  self-help  anJ 
self-creation  proceed  from  the  same  original  power 
which  "works  remotely  in  grandest  and  meanest  struct 
ures  by  the  same  design,  —  works  in  a  lobster  or  a  mite- 
worm  as  a  wise  man  would  if  imprisoned  in  that  poor 
form.  'T  is  the  effort  of  God,  of  the  Supreme  Intellect, 
in  the  extremest  frontier  of  his  universe. 

As  this  unity  exists  in  the  organization  of  insect,  beast 
and  bird,  still  ascending  to  man,  and  from  lower  type  of 
man  to  the  highest  yet  attained,  so  it  does  not  less  de 
clare  itself  in  the  spirit  or  intelligence  of  the  brute.  In 

1  Reprinted  from  the  North  American  Review  of  May,  1878. 
10 


146  THE    SOVEREIGNTY    OF    ETHICS. 

ignorant  ages  it  was  common  to  vaunt  the  human  supe 
riority  by  underrating  the  instinct  of  other  animals  ;  but 
a  better  discernment  finds  that  the  difference  is  only 
less  and  more.  Experiment  shows  that  the  bird  and  the 
dog  reason  as  the  hunter  does,  that  all  the  animals  show 
the  same  good  sense  in  their  humble  walk  that  the  man 
who  is  their  enemy  or  friend  does  ;  and,  if  it  be  in 
smaller  measure,  yet  it  is  not  diminished,  as  his  often 
is,  by  freak  and  folly.  St.  Pierre  says  of  the  animals 
that  a  moral  sentiment  seems  to  have  determined  their 
physical  organization. 

I  see  the  unity  of  thought  and  of  morals  running 
through  all  animated  Nature  ;  there  is  no  difference  of 
quality,  but  only  of  more  and  less.  The  animal  who  is 
wholly  kept  down  in  Nature  has  no  anxieties.  By  yield 
ing,  as  he  must  do,  to  it,  he  is  enlarged  and  reaches  his 
highest  point.  The  poor  grub,  in  the  hole  of  a  tree,  by 
yielding  itself  to  Nature,  goes  blameless  through  its 
low  part  and  is  rewarded  at  last,  casts  its  filthy  hull, 
expands  into  a  beautiful  form  with  rainbow  wings,  and 
makes  a  part  of  the  summer  day.  The  Greeks  called 
it  Psyche,  a  manifest  emblem  of  the  soul.  The  man 
down  in  Nature  occupies  himself  in  guarding,  in  feed 
ing,  in  warming  and  multiplying  his  body,  and,  as  long 
as  he  knows  no  more,  we  justify  him  ;  but  presently 
a  mvstic  change  is  wrought,  a  new  perception  opens, 
and  he  is  made  a  citizen  of  the  world  of  souls  :  he 
feels  what  is  called  duty  ;  he  is  aware  that  he  owes 
a  higher  allegiance  to  do  and  live  as  a  good  member 
of  this  universe.  In  the  measure  in  which  he  has  this 
sense  he  is  a  man,  rises  to  the  universal  life.  The  high 
intellect  is  absolutely  at  one  with  moral  nature.  A 
thought  is  embosomed  iu  a  sentiment,  and  the  attempt 


THE   SOVEREIGNTY   OF   ETHICS.  147 

to  detach  and  blazon  the  thought  is  like  a  show  of  cut 
flowers.  The  moral  is  the  measure  of  health,  and  in 
the  voice  of  Genius  I  hear  invariably  the  moral  tone, 
even  when  it  is  disowned  in  words  ;  —  health,  melody 
and  a  wider  horizon  belong  to  moral  sensibility.  The 
finer  the  sense  of  justice,  the  better  poet.  The  believer 
says  to  the  skeptic  :  — 

"  One  avenue  was  shaded  from  thine  eyes 
Through  which  I  wandered  to  eternal  truth." 

Humility  is  the  avenue.  To  be  sure,  we  exaggerate 
when  we  represent  these  two  elements  as  disunited  ; 
every  man  shares  them  both  ;  but  it  is  true  that  men 
generally  are  marked  by  a  decided  predominance  of 
one  or  of  the  other  element. 

In  youth  and  in  age  we  are  moralists,  and  in  mature 
life  the  moral  element  steadily  rises  in  the  regard  of 
all  reasonable  men. 

'Tis  a  sort  of  proverbial  dying  speech  of  scholars 
(at  least  it  is  attributed  to  many)  that  which  Anthony 
Wood  reports  of  Nathaniel  Carpenter,  an  Oxford  Fel 
low.  "  It  did  repent  him,"  he  said,  "  that  he  had  for- 
merlv  so  much  courted  the  maid  instead  of  the  mis 
tress,"  (meaning  philosophy  and  mathematics  to  the 
neglect  of  divinity).  This,  in  the  language  of  our  time, 
would  be  ethics. 

And  when  I  say  that  the  world  is  made  up  of  moral 
forces,  these  are  not  separate.  All  forces  are  found  in 
Nature  united  with  that  which  they  move  :  heat  is  not 
separate,  light  is  not  massed  aloof,  nor  electricity,  nor 
gravity,  but  they  are  always  in  combination.  And  so 
moral  powers  ;  they  are  thirsts  for  action,  and  the  more 
you  accumulate,  the  more  they  mould  and  form. 


148  THE   SOVEREIGNTY   OF   ETHICS. 

It  is  iu  the  stomach  of  plants  that  development  be 
gins,  and  ends  in  the  circles  of  the  universe.  'T  is  a  long 
scale  from  the  gorilla  to  the  gentleman  —  from  the  go 
rilla  to  Plato,  Newton,  Shakspeare  —  to  the  sanctities 
of  religion,  the  refinements  of  legislation,  the  summits 
of  science,  art  and  poetry.  The  beginnings  are  slow 
and  infirm,  but  it  is  an  always-accelerated  march.  The 
geologic  world  is  chronicled  by  the  growing  ripeness  of 
the  strata  from  lower  to  higher,  as  it  becomes  the  abode 
of  more  highly  organized  plants  and  animals.  The  civil 
history  of  men  might  be  traced  by  the  successive  meli 
orations  as  marked  in  higher  moral  generalizations  ;  — 
virtue  meaning  physical  courage,  then  chastity  and  tem 
perance,  then  justice  and  love  ;  —  bargains  of  kings 
with  peoples,  of  certain  rights  to  certain  classes,  then 
of  rights  to  masses,  —  then  at  last  came  the  day  when, 
as  the  historians  rightly  tell,  the  nerves  of  the  world 
were  electrified  by  the  proclamation  that  all  men  are 
born  free  and  equal. 

Every  truth  leads  in  another.  The  bud  extrudes  the 
old  leaf,  and  every  truth  brings  that  which  will  supplant 
it.  In  the  court  of  law  the  judge  sits  over  the  culprit, 
but  in  the  court  of  life  in  the  same  hour  the  judge  also 
stands  as  culprit  before  a  true  tribunal.  Every  judge 
is  a  culprit,  every  law  an  abuse.  Montaigne  kills  off 
bigots  as  cowhage  kills  worms  ;  but  there  is  a  higher 
muse  there  sitting  where  he  durst  not  soar,  of  eye  so 
keen  that  it  can  report  of  a  realm  in  which  all  the  wit 
and  learning  of  the  Frenchman  is  no  more  than  the 
cunning  of  a  fox. 

It  is  the  same  fact  existing  as  sentiment  and  as  will 
in  the  mind,  which  works  in  Nature  as  irresistible  law, 
exerting  influence  over  nations,  intelligent  beings,  or 


THE    SOVEREIGNTY    OF    ETHICS.  149 

down  in  the  kingdoms  of  brute  or  of  chemical  atoms. 
Nature  is  a  tropical  swamp  in  sunshine,  on  whose  pur 
lieus  we  hear  the  song  of  summer  birds,  and  see  pris 
matic  dew-drops  —  but  her  interiors  are  terrific,  full  of 
h  dras  and  crocodiles.  In  the  pre-adamite  she  bred 
valor  only  ;  by-and-by  she  gets  on  to  man,  and  adds 
tenderness,  and  thus  raises  virtue  piecemeal. 

When  we  trace  from  the  beginning,  that  ferocity  has 
uses  ;  only  so  are  the  conditions  of  the  then  world  met, 
and  these  monsters  are  the  scavengers,  executioners, 
diggers,  pioneers  and  fertilizers,  destroying  what  is 
more  destructive  than  they,  and  making  better  life  pos 
sible.  We  see  the  steady  aim  of  Benefit  in  view  from 
the  first.  Melioration  is  the  law.  The  crudest  foe  is 
a  masked  benefactor.  The  wars  which  make  history 
so  dreary,  have  served  the  cause  of  truth  and  virtue. 
There  is  always  an  instinctive  sense  of  right,  an  obscure 
idea  which  animates  either  party  and  which  in  long 
periods  vindicates  itself  at  last.  Thus  a  sublime  confi 
dence  is  fed  at  the  bottom  of  the  heart  that,  in  spite  of 
appearances,  in  spite  of  malignity  and  blind  self-interest 
living  for  the  moment,  an  eternal,  beneficent  necessity 
is  always  bringing  things  right  ;  and,  thougli  we  should 
fold  our  arms,  —  which  we  cannot  do,  for  our  duty  re 
quires  us  to  be  the  very  hands  of  this  guiding  sentiment, 
and  work  in  the  present  moment,  —  the  evils  we  suffer 
will  at  last  end  themselves  through  the  incessant  oppo 
sition  of  Nature  to  everything-  hurtful. 

The  excellence  of  men  consists  in  the  completeness 
with  which  the  lower  system  is  taken  up  into  the  higher, 
—  a  process  of  much  time  and  delicacy,  but  in  which 
no  point  of  the  lower  should  be  left  untranslated  ;  so 
that  the  warfare  of  beasts  should  be  renewed  in  a  finer 


150  THE   SOVEREIGNTY    OF  ETHICS. 

field,  for  more  excellent  victories.  Savage  war  gives 
place  to  that  of  Turenue  and  Wellington,  which  has 
limitations  and  a  code.  This  war  again  gives  place  to 
the  finer  quarrel  of  property,  where  the  victory  is  wealth 
and  the  defeat  poverty. 

The  inevitabilities  are  always  sapping  every  seeming 
prosperity  built  on  a  wrong.  No  matter  how  you  seem 
to  fatten  on  a  crime,  that  can  never  be  good  for  the  bee 
which  is  bad  for  the  hive.  See  how  these  things  look 
in  the  page  of  history.  Nations  come  and  go,  cities 
rise  and  fall,  all  the  instincts  of  man,  good  and  bad, 
work,  —  and  every  wLli,  appetite  and  passion  rushes 
into  act  and  embodies  itself  in  usages,  protects  itself 
with  laws.  Some  of  them  are  useful  and  universally 
acceptable,  hinder  none,  help  all,  and  these  are  honored 
and  perpetuated.  Others  are  noxious.  Community  of 
property  is  tried,  as  when  a  Tartar  horde  or  an  Indian 
tribe  roam  over  a  vast  tract  for  pasturage  or  hunting ; 
but  it  is  found  at  last  that  some  establishment  of  prop 
erty,  allowing  each  on  some  distinct  terms  to  fence  and 
cultivate  a  piece  of  land,  is  best  for  all.  "  For  my 
part,"  said  Napoleon,  "  it  is  not  the  mystery  of  the  in 
carnation  which  I  discover  in  religion,  but  the  mys 
tery  of  social  order,  which  associates  with  heaven  that 
idea  of  equality  which  prevents  the  rich  from  destroy 
ing  the  poor." 

Shall  I  say  then  it  were  truer  to  see  Necessity  calm, 
beautiful,  passionless,  without  a  smile,  covered  with  en 
signs  of  woe,  stretching  her  dark  warp  across  the  uni 
verse  ?  These  threads  are  Nature's  pernicious  ele 
ments,  her  deluges,  miasma,  disease,  poison;  her  curdling 
cold,  her  hideous  reptiles  and  worse  men,  cannibals,  and 
the  depravities  of  civilization;  the  secrets  of  the  prisons 


THE   SOVEREIGNTY   OF    ETHICS.  151 

of  tyranny,  the  slave  and  his  master,  the  prouu  man's 
scorn,  the  orphan's  tears,  the  vices  of  men,  lust,  cruelty 
and  pitiless  avarice.  These  make  the  gloomy  warp  of 
ages.  Humanity  sits  at  the  dread  loom  and  throws  the 
shuttle  and  fills  it  with  joyful  rainbows,  until  the  sable 
ground  is  flowered  all  over  with  a  woof  of  human  in 
dustry  and  wisdom,  virtuous  examples,  symbols  of  use 
ful  and  generous  arts,  with  beauty  and  pure  love,  cour 
age  and  the  victories  of  the  just  and  wise  over  malice 
and  wrong. 

Nature  is  not  so  helpless  but  it  can  rid  itself  at  last 
of  every  crime.  An  Eastern  poet,  in  describing  the 
golden  age,  said  that  God  had  made  justice  so  dear  to 
the  heart  of  Nature  that,  if  any  injustice  lurked  any 
where  under  the  sky,  the  blue  vault  would  shrivel  to  a 
snake-skin  and  cast  it  out  .by  spasms.  But  the  spasms 
of  Nature  are  years  and  centuries,  and  it  will  tax  the 
faith  of  man  to  wait  so  long. 

Man  is  always  throwing  his  praise  or  blame  on  events, 
and  does  not  see  that  he  only  is  real,  and  the  world  his 
mirror  and  echo.  He  imputes  the  stroke  to  fortune, 
which  in  reality  himself  strikes.  The  student  discovers 
one  day  that  he  lives  in  enchantment:  the  house,  the 
works,  the  persons,  the  days,  the  weathers  —  all  that  he 
calls  Nature,  all  that  he  calls  institutions,  when  once  his 
mind  is  active  are  visions  merely,  wonderful  allegories, 
significant  pictures  of  the  laws  of  the  mind ;  and  through 
this  enchanted  gallery  he  is  led  by  unseen  guides  to 
read  and  learn  the  laws  of  Heaven.  This  discovery  may 
come  early,  —  sometimes  in  the  nursery,  to  a  rare  child ; 
later  in  the  school,  but  oftener  when  the  mind  is  more 
mature  ;  and  to  multitudes  of  men  wanting  in  mental 
activity  it  never  comes  —  any  more  than  poetry  or  art 


152  THE   SOVEREIGNTY    OF    ETHICS. 

But  it  ought  to  come  ;  it  belongs  to  the  human  intel 
lect,  and  is  an  insight  which  we  cannot  spare. 

The  idea  of  right  exists  in  the  human  mind,  and  lays 
itself  out  in  the  equilibrium  of  Nature,  in  the  equalities 
and  periods  of  our  system,  in  the  level  of  seas,  in  the 
action  and  reaction  of  forces.  Nothing  is  allowed  to 
exceed  or  absorb  the  rest ;  if  it  do,  it  is  disease,  and  is 
quickly  destroyed.  It  was  an  early  discovery  of  the 
mind,  —  this  beneficent  rule.  Strength  enters  just  as 
much  as  the  moral  element  prevails.  The  strength  of 
the  animal  to  eat  and  to  be  luxurious  and  to  usurp  is 
rudeness  and  imbecility.  The  law  is  :  To  each  shall  be 
rendered  his  own.  As  thou  sowest,  thou  shalt  reap. 
Smite,  and  thou  shalt  smart.  Serve,  and  thou  shalt  be 
served.  If  you  love  and  serve  men,  you  cannot,  by  any 
hiding  or  stratagem,  escape  the  remuneration.  Secret 
retributions  are  always  restoring  the  level,  when  dis 
turbed,  of  the  Divine  justice.  It  is  impossible  to  tilt 
the  beam.  All  the  tyrants  and  proprietors  and  monop 
olists  of  the  world  in  vain  set  their  shoulders  to  heave 
the  bar.  Settles  for  evermore  the  ponderous  equator  to 
its  line,  and  man  and  mote  and  star  and  sun  must  range 
with  it,  or  be  pulverized  by  the  recoil. 

It  is  a  doctrine  of  unspeakable  comfort.  lie  that 
plants  his  foot  here,  passes  at  once  out  of  the  kingdom 
of  illusions.  Others  may  well  suffer  in  the  hideous 
picture  of  crime  with  which  earth  is  filled  and  the  life 
of  society  threatened,  but  the  habit  of  respecting  that 
great  order  which  certainly  contains  and  will  dispose  of 
our  little  system,  will  take  all  fear  from  the  heart.  It 
did  itself  create  and  distribute  all  that  is  created  and 
flistributed,  and,  trusting  to  its  power,  we  cease  to  care 
for  what  it  will  certainly  order  well.  To  good  men,  as 


THK   SOYKUK1GNTY    OF   ETHICS.  153 

we  call  good  men,  this  doctrine  of  Trust  is  an  unsounded 
secret.  They  use  the  word,  they  have  accepted  the 
notion  of  a  mechanical  supervision  of  human  life,  by 
which  that  certain  wonderful  being  whom  they  call  God 
does  take  up  their  aft'airs  where  their  intelligence  leaves 
them,  and  somehow  knits  and  co-ordinates  the  issues  of 
them  in  all  that  is  beyond  the  reach  of  private  faculty. 
They  do  not  see  that  He,  that  It,  is  there,  next  and 
within  ;  the  thought  of  the  thought ;  the  affair  of  af 
fairs  ;  that  he  is  existence,  and  take  him  from  them  and 
they  would  not  be.  They  do  not  see  that  particulars 
are  sacred  to  him,  as  well  as  the  scope  and  outline  ; 
that  these  passages  of  daily  life  are  his  work  ;  that  in 
the  moment  when  they  desist  from  interference,  these 
particulars  take  sweetness  and  grandeur,  and  become 
the  language  of  mighty  principles. 

A  man  should  be  a  guest  in  his  own  house,  and  a 
guest  in  his  own  thought.  He  is  there  to  speak  for 
truth ;  but  who  is  he  ?  Some  clod  the  truth  has 
snatched  from  the  ground,  and  with  fire  has  fashioned 
to  a  momentary  man.  Without  the  truth,  he  is  a  clod 
again.  Let  him  find  his  superiority  in  not  wishing 
superiority  ;  find  the  riches  of  love  which  possesses  that 
which  it  adores  ;  the  riches  of  poverty  ;  the  height  of 
lowliness,  the  immensity  of  to-day  ;  and,  in  the  passing 
hour,  the  age  of  ages.  Wondrous  state  of  man  !  never 
so  happy  as  when  he  has  lost  all  private  interests  and 
regards,  and  exists  only  in  obedience  and  love  of  the 
Author. 

The  fiery  soul  said  :  "  Let  me  be  a  blot  on  this  fair 
world,  the  obscurest,  the  loneliest  sufferer,  with  one 
proviso,  —  that  I  know  it  is  His  agency.  I  will  love 
him,  though  he  shed  frost  and  darkness  on  every  way 


154  THE   SOVKRKIGXTY    OF   ETHICS. 

of  mine."  The  emphasis  of  that  blessed  doctrine  lay 
in  lowliness.  The  new  saint  gloried  in  infirmities.  Who 
or  what  was  he  ?  His  rise  and  his  recovery  were  vica 
rious.  He  has  fallen  in  another  ;  he  rises  in  another. 

We  perish,  and  perish  gladly,  if  the  law  remains.  I 
hope  it  is  conceivable  that  a  man  may  go  to  ruin  gladly, 
if  he  see  that  thereby  no  shade  falls  on  that  he  loves 
and  adores.  We  need  not  always  be  stipulating  for 
our  clean  shirt  and  roast  joint  per  diem.  We  do  not 
believe  the  less  in  astronomy  and  vegetation,  because 
we  are  writhing  and  roaring  in  our  beds  with  rheuma 
tism.  Cripples  and  invalids,  we  doubt  not  there  are  , 
bounding  fawns  in  the  forest,  and  lilies  with  graceful, 
springing  stem  ;  so  neither  do  we  doubt  or  fail  to  love 
the  eternal  law,  of  which  we  are  such  shabby  prac- 
tisers.  Truth  gathers  itself  spotless  and  unhurt  after 
all  our  surrenders  and  concealments  and  partisanship  — 
never  hurt  by  the  treachery  or  ruin  of  its  best  defend 
ers,  whether  Luther,  or  William  Penn,  or  St.  Paul.  We 
answer,  when  they  tell  us  of  the  bad  behavior  of  Luther 
or  Paul :  "  Well,  what  if  he  did  ?  Who  was  more  pained 
than  Luther  or  Paul  ?  "  Shall  we  attach  ourselves  vio 
lently  to  our  teachers  and  historical  personalities,  and 
think  the  foundation  shaken  if  any  fault  is  shown  in 
their  record  ?  But  how  is  the  truth  hurt  by  their  fall 
ing  from  it  ?  The  law  of  gravity  is  not  hurt  by  every 
accident.,  though  our  leg  be  broken.  No  more  is  the 
law  of  justice  by  our  departure  from  it. 

We  are  to  know  that  we  are  never  without  a  pilot. 
When  we  know  not  how  to  steer,  and  dare  not  hoist  a 
sail,  we  can  drift.  The  current  knows  the  way,  though 
we  do  not.  When  the  stars  and  sun  appear,  when  we 
have  conversed  with  navigators  who  know  the  coast, 


THE   SOVEREIGNTY   OF   ETHICS.  155 

we  may  begin  to  put  out  an  oar  and  trim  a  sail.  The 
ship  of  heaven  guides  itself,  and  will  not  accept  a 
wooden  rudder. 

Have  you  said  to  yourself  ever  :  '  I  abdicate  all 
choice,  I  see  it  is  not  for  me  to  interfere.  I  see  that  I 
have  been  one  of  the  crowd  ;  that  I  have  been  a  pitiful 
person,  because  I  have  wished  to  be  my  own  master, 
and  to  dress  and  order  my  whole  way  and  system  of 
living.  I  thought  I  managed  it  very  well.  I  see  that 
my  neighbors  think  so.  I  have  heard  prayers,  1  have 
prayed  even,  but  I  have  never  until  now  dreamed  that 
this  undertaking  the  entire  management  of  my  own  af 
fairs  was  not  commendable.  I  have  never  seen,  until 
now,  that  it  dwarfed  me.  I  have  not  discovered,  until 
this  blessed  ray  flashed  just  now  through  my  soul,  that 
there  dwelt  any  power  in  Nature  that  would  relieve  me 
of  my  load.  But  now  I  see.' 

What  is  this  intoxicating  sentiment  that  allies  this 
scrap  of  dust  to  the  whole  of  Nature  and  the  whole  of 
Fate,  —  that  makes  this  doll  a  dweller  in  ages,  mocker 
at  time,  able  to  spurn  all  outward  advantages,  peer  and 
master  of  the  elements  ?  I  am  taught  by  it  that  what 
touches  any  thread  in  the  vast  web  of  being  touches  me. 
I  am  representative  of  the  whole  ;  and  the  good  of  the 
whole,  or  what  I  call  the  right,  makes  me  invulnerable. 

How  came  this  creation  so  magically  woven  that 
nothing  can  do  me  mischief  but  myself,  —  that  an  in 
visible  fence  surrounds  my  being  which  screens  me 
from  all  harm  that  I  will  to  resist  ?  If  I  will  stand 
upright,  the  creation  cannot  bend  me.  But  if  I  violate 
myself,  if  I  commit  a  crime,  the  lightning  loiters  by 
the  speed  of  retribution,  and  every  act  is  not  hereafter 
but  instantaneously  rewarded  according  to  its  quality, 


156  THE   SOVEREIGNTY    OF   ETHICS. 

Virtue  Is  the  adopting  of  this  dictate  of  the  universal 
mind  by  the  individual  will.  Character  is  the  habit  of 
this  obedience,  and  Religion  is  the  accompanying  emo 
tion,  the  emotion  of  reverence  which  the  presence  of  the 
universal  mind  ever  excites  in  the  individual. 

We  go  to  famous  books  for  our  examples  of  charac 
ter,  just  as  we  send  to  England  for  shrubs  which  grow 
as  well  in  our  own  door-yards  and  cow-pastures.  Life 
is  always  rich,  and  spontaneous  graces  and  forces  ele 
vate  it  in  every  domestic  circle,  which  are  overlooked 
while  we  are  reading  something  less  excellent  in  old 
authors.  From  the  obscurity  and  casualty  of  thoso 
which  I  know,  I  infer  the  obscurity  and  casualty  of  the 
like  balm  and  consolation  and  immortality  in  a  thousand 
homes  which  I  do  not  know,  all  round  the  world.  And 
I  see  not  why  to  these  simple  instincts,  simple  yet 
grand,  all  the  heights  and  transcendencies  of  virtue 
and  of  enthusiasm  are  not  open.  There  is  power 
enough  in  them  to  move  the  world  ;  and  it  is  not  any 
sterility  or  defect  in  ethics,  but  our  negligence  of  these 
line  monitors,  of  these  world-embracing  sentiments,  that 
makes  religion  cold  and  life  low. 

While  the  immense  energy  of  the  sentiment  of  duty 
and  the  awe  of  the  supernatural  exert  incomparable  in 
fluence  on  the  mind,  —  yet  it  is  often  perverted,  and  the 
tradition  received  with  awe,  but  without"  correspondent 
action  of  the  receiver.  Then  you  find  so  many  men 
infatuated  on  that  topic  !  Wise  on  all  other,  they  lose 
their  head  the  moment  they  talk  of  religion.  It  is  the 
sturdiest  prejudice  in  the  public  mind  that  religion  is 
something  by  itself  ;  a  department  distinct  from  all 
other  experiences,  and  to  which  the  tests  and  judgment 
men  are  ready  enough  to  show  on  other  things,  do  not 


THE   SOVEREIGNTY   OF   ETHICS.  157 

apply.  You  may  sometimes  talk  with  the  gravest  and 
best  citizen,  and  the  moment  the  topic  of  religion  is 
broached,  he  runs  into  a  childish  superstition.  His  face 
looks  infatuated,  and  his  conversation  is.  When  I 
talked  with  an  ardent  missionary,  and  pointed  out  to 
him  that  his  creed  found  no  support  in  my  experience, 
he  replied,  "  It  is  not  so  in  your  experience,  but  is  so 
in  the  other  world."  I  answer  :  Other  world  !  there 
ij  no  other  world.  God  is  one  and  omnipresent  ;  here 
or  nowhere  is  the  whole  fact.  The  one  miracle  which 
God  works  evermore  is  in  Nature,  and  imparting  him 
self  to  the  mind.  When  we  ask  simply,  "  What  is  true 
in  thought  ?  what  is  just  in  action  ?  "  it  is  the  yielding 
of  the  private  heart  to  the  Divine  mind,  and  all  personal 
preferences,  and  all  requiring  of  wonders,  are  profane. 

The  word  miracle,  as  it  is  used,  only  indicates  the  ig- 
aorance  of  the  devotee,  staring  with  wonder  to  see  water 
turned  into  wine,  and  heedless  of  the  stupendous  fact  of 
his  own  personality.  Here  he  stands,  a  lonely  thought 
harmoniously  organized  into  correspondence  with  the 
universe  of  mind  and  matter.  What  narrative  of  won 
ders  coming  down  from  a  thousand  years  ought  to 
charm  his  attention  like  this  ?  Certainly  it  is  human 
to  value  a  general  consent,  a  fraternity  of  believers, 
a  crowded  church  ;  but  as  the  sentiment  purifies  and 
rises,  it  leaves  crowds.  It  makes  churches  of  two, 
churches  of  one.  A  fatal  disservice  does  this  Sweden- 
borg  or  other  who  offers  to  do  my  thinking  for  me.  It 
seems  as  if,  when  the  Spirit  of  God  speaks  so  plainly  to 
each  soul,  it  were  an  impiety  to  be  listening  to  one  or 
another  saint.  Jesus  was  better  than  others,  because  he 
refused  to  listen  to  others  and  listened  at  home. 

You  are  really  interested  in  your  thought.     You  have 


158  THE   SOVEREIGNTY   OF   ETHICS. 

meditated  in  silent  wonder  on  your  existence  in  tins 
world.  You  have  perceived  in  the  first  fact  of  your 
conscious  life  here  a  miracle  so  astounding,  —  a  miracle 
comprehending  all  the  universe  of  miracles  to  which 
your  intelligent  life  gives  you  access,  —  as  to  exhaust 
wonder,  and  leave  you  no  need  of  hunting  here  or  there 
for  any  particular  exhibitions  of  power.  Then  up  comes 
a  man  with  a  text  of  1  John,  v.  7,  or  a  knotty  sentence 
from  St.  Paul,  which  he  considers  as  the  axe  at  the  root 
of  your  tree.  You  cannot  bring  yourself  to  care  for  it. 
You  say  :  "  Cut  away  :  my  tree  is  Ygdrasil  —  the  tree 
of  life."  He  interrupts  for  the  moment  your  peaceful 
trust  in  the  Divine  Providence.  Let  him  know  by  your 
security  that  your  conviction  is  clear  and  sufficient,  and 
if  he  were  Paul  himself,  you  also  are  here,  and  with 
your  Creator. 

We  all  give  way  to  superstitions.  The  house  in 
which  we  were  born  is  not  quite  mere  timber  and  stone  ; 
is  still  haunted  by  parents  and  progenitors.  The  creeds 
into  which  we  were  initiated  in  childhood  and  youth  no 
longer  hold  their  old  place  in  the  minds  of  thoughtful 
men,  but  they  are  not  nothing  to  us,  and  we  hate  to  have 
them  treated  with  contempt.  There  is  so  much  that  we 
do  not  know,  that  we  give  to  these  suggestions  the  ben 
efit  of  the  doubt. 

It  is  a  necessity  of  the  human  mind  that  he  who  looks 
at  one  object  should  look  away  from  all  other  objects. 
He  may  throw  himself  upon  some  sharp  statement  of 
one  fact,  some  verbal  creed,  with  such  concentration  as 
to  hide  the  universe  from  him  :  but  the  stars  roll  above; 
the  sun  warms  him.  With  patience  and  fidelity  to  truth 
he  may  work  his  way  through,  if  only  by  coming  against 
•omebody  who  believes  more  fables  than  hs  does  ;  and, 


THK   SOVEREIGNTY   OF   ETHICS.  159 

in  trying  to  dispel  the  illusions  of  his  neighbor,  he  opens 
his  own  eyes. 

In  the  Christianity  of  this  country  there  is  wide  dif 
ference  of  opinion  in  regard  to  inspiration,  prophecy, 
miracles,  the  future  state  of  the  soul  ;  every  variety  of 
opinion,  and  rapid  revolution  in  opinions,  in  the  last 
half-century.  It  is  simply  impossible  to  read  the  old 
history  of  the  first  century  as  it  was  read  in  the  ninth  ; 
to  do  so  you  must  abolish  in  your  mind  the  Isssons  of 
all  the  centuries  from  the  ninth  to  the  nineteenth. 

Shall  I  make  the  mistake  of  baptizing  the  daylight, 
and  time,  and  space,  by  the  name  of  John  or  Joshua,  in 
whose  tent  I  chance  to  behold  daylight,  and  space,  and 
time  ?  What  anthropomorphists  we  are  in  this,  that  we 
cannot  let  moral  distinctions  be,  but  must  mould  them 
into  human  shape  !  "  Mere  morality  "  means,  —  not  put 
into  a  personal  master  of  morals.  Our  religion  is  geo 
graphical,  belongs  to  our  time  and  place  ;  respects  and 
mythologizes  some  one  time  and  place  and  person  and 
people.  So  it  is  occasional.  It  visits  us  only  on  some 
exceptional  and  ceremonial  occasion,  on  a  wedding  or  a 
baptism,  on  a  sick-bed,  or  at  a  funeral,  or  perhaps  on  a 
sublime  national  victory  or  a  peace.  But  that  be  sure 
is  not  the  religion  of  the  universal  unsleeping  provi 
dence,  which  lurks  in  trifles,  in  still,  small  voices,  in  the 
secrets  of  the  heart  and  our  closest  thoughts,  as  effi 
ciently  as  in  our  proclamations  and  successes. 

Far  be  it  from  me  to  underrate  the  men  or  the 
churches  that  have  fixed  the  hearts  of  men  and  organ 
ized  their  devout  impulses  or  oracles  into  good  institu 
tions.  The  Church  of  Rome  had  its  saints,  and  inspired 
the  conscience  of  Europe  —  St.  Augustine,  and  Thomas 
h  Kempis,  and  Fenelon;  the  piety  of  the  English  Church 


160  THE   SOVEREIGNTY  OF   ETHICS. 

in  Cranmer,  and  Herbert,  and  Taylor ;  the  Reformed 
Church,  Scougal  ;  the  mystics,  Behmen  and  Sweden- 
borg  ;  the  Qnakers,  Fox  and  James  Naylor.  I  confess 
our  later  generation  appears  ungirt,  frivolous,  compared 
with  the  religions  of  the  last  or  Calvinistic  age.  There 
was  in  the  last  century  a  serious  habitual  reference  to 
the  spiritual  world,  running  through  diaries,  Utters  and 
conversation  - —  yes,  and  into  wills  and  legal  instruments 
also,  compared  with  which  our  liberation  looks  a  little 
foppish  and  dapper. 

The  religion  of  seventy  years  ago  was  an  iron  belt  to 
the  mind,  giving  it  concentration  and  force.  A  rude 
people  were  kept  respectable  by  the  determination  of 
thought  on  the  eternal  world.  Now  men  fall  abroad, 
—  want  polarity,  —  suffer  in  character  and  intellect.  A 
sleep  creeps  over  the  great  functions  of  man.  Enthusi 
asm  goes  out.  In  its  stead  a  low  prudence  seeks  to  hold 
society  staunch,  but  its  arms  ai-e  too  short,  cordage  and 
machinery  never  supply  the  plrtce  of  life. 

Luther  would  cut  his  hand,  off  sooner  than  write 
theses  against  the  pope  if  he  suspected  that  he  was 
bringing  on  with  all  his  might  tne  pale  negations  of 
Boston  Unitarianism.  I  will  not  now  go  into  the  meta 
physics  of  that  reaction  by  which  in  history  a  period  of 
belief  is  followed  by  an  age  of  criticism,  in  which  wit 
takes  the  place  of  faith  in  the  leading  spirits,  and  an 
excessive  respect  for  forms  out  of  which  the  heart  has 
-departed  becomes  most  obvious  in  the  least  religious 
minds.  I  will  not  now  explore  the  causes  of  the  result, 
but  the  fact  must  be  conceded  as  of  frequent  recur 
rence,  and  never  more  evident  than  in  our  American 
church.  To  a  self-denying,  ardent  church,  delighting 
in  rites  arid  ordinances,  lias  succeeded  a  cold,  intellect- 


THE   SOVEREIGNTY   OF   ETHICS.  161 

ual  race,  who  analyze  the  prayer  and  psalm  of  their 
forefathers,  and  the  more  intellectual  reject  every  yoke 
of  authority  and  custom  with  a  petulance  unprecedented. 
It  is  a  sort  of  mark  of  probity  and  sincerity  to  declare 
how  little  you  believe,  while  the  mass  of  the  commu 
nity  indolently  follow  the  old  forms  with  childish  scru 
pulosity,  and  we  have  punctuality  for  faith,  and  good 
taste  for  character. 

But  I  hope  the  defect  of  faith  with  us  is  only  appar 
ent.  We  shall  find  that  freedom  has  its  own  guards, 
and,  as  soon  as  in  the  vulgar  it  runs  to  license,  sets  all 
reasonable  men  on  exploring  those  guards.  I  do  not 
think  the  summit  of  this  age  truly  reached  or  expressed 
unless  it  attain  the  height  which  religion  and  philosophy 
reached  in  any  former  age.  If  I  miss  the  inspiration 
of  the  saints  of  Calvinism,  or  of  Platonism,  or  Bud 
dhism,  our  times  are  not  up  to  theirs,  or,  more  truly, 
have  not  yet  their  own  legitimate  force. 

Worship  is  the  regard  for  what  is  above  us.  Men  are 
respectable  only  as  they  respect.  We  delight  in  chil 
dren  because  of  that  religious  eye  which  belongs  to 
them;  because  of  their  reverence  for  their  seniors,  and 
for  their  objects  of  belief.  The  poor  Irish  laborer  one 
sees  with  respect,  because  he  believes  in  something,  in 
his  church,  and  in  his  employers.  Superstitious  per 
sons  we  see  with  respect,  because  their  whole  existence 
is  not  bounded  by  their  hats  and  their  shoes,  but  they 
walk  attended  by  pictures  of  the  imagination,  to  which 
they  pay  homage.  You  cannot  impoverish  man  by  tak 
ing  away  these  objects  above  him  without  ruin.  It  is 
very  sad  to  see  men  who  think  their  goodness  made  of 
themselves  ;  it  is  very  grateful  to  see  those  who  hold  an 
opinion  the  reverse  of  this. 
11 


162  THE   SOVKRKIGNTY    OF  ETHICS. 

All  ages  of  belief  have  been  great ;  all  of  unbelief 
have  been  mean.  The  Orientals  believe  in  Fate.  That 
which  shall  befall  them  is  written  on  the  iron  leaf  ; 
they  will  not  turn  on  their  heel  to  avoid  famine,  plague, 
or  the  sword  of  the  enemy.  That  is  great,  and  gives  a 
great  air  to  the  people.  We  in  America  are  charged 
with  a  great  deficiency  in  worship  ;  that  reverence  does 
not  belong  to  our  character  ;  that  our  institutions,  our 
politics,  and  our  trade,  have  fostered  a  self-reliance 
which  is  small,  liliputian,  full  of  fuss  and  bustle  ;  we 
look  at  and  will  bear  nothing  above  us  in  the  state,  and 
do  exceedingly  applaud  and  admire  ourselves,  and  be 
lieve  in  our  senses  and  understandings,  while  our  imag 
ination  and  our  moral  sentiment  are  desolated.  In  re 
ligion  too  we  want  objects  above  ;  we  are  fast  losing  or 
have  already  lost  our  old  reverence  ;  new  views  of 
inspiration,  of  miracles,  of  the  saints,  have  supplanted 
the  old  opinions,  and  it  is  vain  to  bring  them  again. 
Revolutions  never  go  backward,  and  in  all  churches  a 
certain  decay  of  ancient  piety  is  lamented,  and  all 
threatens  to  lapse  into  apathy  and  indifferentism.  It 
becomes  us  to  consider  whether  we  cannot  have  a  real 
faith  and  real  objects  in  lieu  of  these  false  ones.  The 
human  mind,  when  it  is  trusted,  is  never  false  to  itself. 
If  there  be  sincerity  and  good  meaning  —  if  there  be 
really  in  us  the  wish  to  seek  for  our  superiors,  for  that 
which  is  lawfully  above  us,  we  shall  not  long  look  in 
vain. 

Meantime  there  is  great  centrality,  a  centripetencc 
equal  to  the  centrifugence.  The  mystic  or  theist  is 
never  scared  by  any  startling  materialism.  He  knows 
the  laws  of  gravitation  and  of  repulsion  are  deaf  to 
French  talkers,  be  they  never  so  witty.  If  theologj 


THE   SOVEREIGNTY   OF   ETHICS.  163 

shows  that  opinions  are  fast  changing,  it  is  not  so  with 
the  convictions  of  men  with  regard  to  conduct.  These  re 
main.  The  most  daring  heroism,  the  most  accomplished 
culture,  or  rapt  holiness,  never  exhausted  the  claim  of 
these  lowly  duties,  —  never  penetrated  to  their  origin, 
or  was  able  to  look  behind  their  source.  We  cannot 
disenchant,  we  cannot  impoverish  ourselves,  by  obe 
dience  ;  but  by  humility  we  rise,  by  obedience  we  com 
mand,  by  poverty  we  are  rich,  by  dying  we  live. 

We  are  thrown  back  on  rectitude  forever  and  ever, 
only  rectitude,  —  to  mend  one ;  that  is  all  we  can  do. 
But  that  the  zealot  stigmatizes  as  a  sterile  chimney- 
corner  philosophy.  Now  the  first  position  I  make  is 
that  natural  religion  supplies  still  all  the  facts  which 
are  disguised  under  the  dogma  of  popular  creeds.  The 
progress  of  religion  is  steadily  to  its  identity  with 
morals. 

How  is  the  new  generation  to  be  edified  ?  How 
should  it  not  ?  The  life  of  those  once  omnipotent  tra 
ditions  was  really  not  in  the  legend,  but  in  the  moral 
sentiment  and  the  metaphysical  fact  which  the  legends 
enclosed  —  and  these  survive.  A  new  Socrates,  or  Zeno, 
or  Swedenborg,  or  Pascal,  or  a  new  crop  of  geniuses  like 
those  of  the  Elizabethan  age,  may  be  born  in  this  age, 
and,  with  happy  heart  and  a  bias  for  theism,  bring 
asceticism,  duty,  and  magnanimity  into  vogue  again. 

It  is  true  that  Stoicism,  always  attractive  to  the  intel 
lectual  and  cultivated,  has  now  no  temples,  no  academy, 
no  commanding  Zeno  or  Antoninus.  It  accuses  us  that 
it  has  none:  that  pure  ethics  is  not  now  formulated  and 
concreted  into  a  cultus,  a  fraternity  with  assemblings 
and  holy-days,  with  song  and  book,  with  brick  and 
stone.  Why  have  not  those  who  believe  in  it  and  love 


104  THE    SOVEREIGNTY    OF   ETHICS. 

it  left  all  for  this,  and  dedicated  themselves  to  write  out 
its  scientific  scriptures  to  become  its  Vulgate  for  mill 
ions  ?  I  answer  for  one  that  the  inspirations  we  catch 
of  this  law  are  not  continuous  and  technical,  but  joyful 
sparkles,  and  are  recorded  for  their  beauty,  for  the  de 
light  they  give,  not  for  their  obligation  ;  and  that  is  their 
priceless  good  to  men,  that  they  charm  and  uplift,  not 
that  they  are  imposed.  It  has  not  yet  its  first  hymn. 
But,  that  every  line  and  word  may  be  coals  of  true  fire, 
ages  must  roll,  ere  these  casual  wide-falling  cinders  can 
be  gathered  into  broad  and  steady  altar-flame. 

It  does  not  yet  appear  what  forms  the  religious  feel 
ing  will  take.  It  prepares  to  rise  out  of  all  forms  to  an 
absolute  justice  and  healthy  perception.  Here  is  now 
a  new  feeling  of  humanity  infused  into  public  action. 
Here  is  contribution  of  money  on  a  more  extended  and 
systematic  scale  than  ever  before  to  repair  public  dis 
asters  at  a  distance,  and  of  .political  support  to  oppressed 
parties.  Then  there  are  the  new  conventions  of  social 
science,  before  which  the  questions  of  the  rights  of 
women,  the  laws  of  trade,  the  treatment  of  crime,  regu 
lation  of  labor,  come  for  a  hearing.  If  these  are  tokens 
of  the  steady  currents  of  thought  and  will  in  these 
directions,  one  might  well  anticipate  a  new  nation. 

I  know  how  delicate  this  principle  is,  —  how  difficult 
of  adaptation  to  practical  and  social  arrangements.  It 
cannot  be  profaned;  it  cannot  be  forced;  to  draw  it  out 
of  its  natural  current  is  to  lose  at  once  all  its  power. 
Such  experiments  as  we  recall  are  those  in  which  some 
sect  or  dogma  made  the  tie,  and  that  was  an  artificial 
element,  which  chilled  and  checked  the  union.  But  is 
it  quite  impossible  to  believe  that  men  should  be  drawn 
to  each  other  by  the  simple  respect  which  each  man 


THE   SOVEREIGNTY    OF    ETHICS.  165 

feels  for  another  iu  whom  he  discovers  absolute  honesty; 
the  respect  he  feels  for  one  who  thiuks  life  is  quite  too 
coarse  and  frivolous,  and  that  he  should  like  to  lift  it  a 
little,  should  like  to  be  the  frieud  of  some  man's  virtue? 
for  another  who,  underneath  his  compliances  with  ar 
tificial  society,  would  dearly  like  to  serve  somebody,  — 
to  test  his  own  reality  by  making  himself  useful  and  in 
dispensable  ? 

Man  does  not  live  by  bread  alone,  but  by  faith,  by 
admiration,  by  sympathy.  'T  is  very  shallow  to  say 
that  cotton,  or  iron,  or  silver  and  gold  are  kings  of  the 
world ;  there  are  rulers  that  will  at  any  moment  make 
these  forgotten.  Fear  will.  Love  will.  Character  will. 
Men  live  by  their  credence.  Governments  stand  by 
it,  —  by  the  faith  that  the  people  share,  —  whether  it 
comes  from  the  religion  in  which  they  were  bred,  or 
from  an  original  conscience  in  themselves,  which  the 
popular  religion  echoes.  If  government  could  only 
stand  by  force,  if  the  instinct  of  the  people  was  to  resist 
the  government,  it  is  plain  the  government  must  be  two 
to  one  in  order  to  be  secure,  and  then  it  would  not  be 
safe  from  desperate  individuals.  But  no  ;  the  old  com 
mandment,  u  Thou  shalt  not  kill,"  holds  down  New 
York,  and  London,  and  Paris,  and  not  a  police  or  horse- 
guards. 

The  credence  of  men  it  is  that  moulds  them,  and 
creates  at  will  one  or  another  surface.  The  mind  as  it 
opens  transfers  very  fast  its  choice  from  the  circum 
stance  to  the  cause;  from  courtesy  to  love,  from  inven 
tions  to  science,  from  London  or  Washington  law,  or 
public  opinion,  to  the  self-revealing  idea;  from  all  that 
talent  executes  to  the  sentiment  that  fills  the  heart  and 
dictates  the  future  of  nations-  The  commanding  fact 


166  THE   SOVEREIGNTY    OF   ETHICS. 

which  I  never  do  not  see,  is  the  sufficiency  of  the  moral 
sentiment.  We  buttress  it  up,  in  shallow  hours  or  ages, 
with  legends,  traditions  and  forms,  each  good  for  the 
one  moment  in  which  it  was  a  happy  type  or  symbol  of 
the  Power  ;  but  the  Power  sends  in  the  next  moment  a 
new  lesson,  which  we  lose  while  our  eyes  are  reverted 
and  striving  to  perpetuate  the  old. 

America  shall  introduce  a  pure  religion.  Ethics  are 
thought  not  to  satisfy  affection.  But  all  the  religion 
we  have  is  the  ethics  of  one  or  another  holy  person;  as 
soon  as  character  appeal's,  be  sure  love  will,  and  ven 
eration,  and  anecdotes  and  fables  about  him,  and  de 
light  of  good  men  and  women  in  him.  And  what  deeps 
of  grandeur  and  beauty  are  known  to  us  in  ethical 
truth,  what  divination  or  insight  belongs  to  it  i  For  in 
nocence  is  a  wonderful  electuary  for  purging  the  eyes 
to  search  the  nature  of  those  souls  that  pass  before  it. 
What  armor  it  is  to  protect  the  good  from  outward  or 
inward  harm,  and  with  what  power  it  converts  evil  ac 
cidents  into  benefits ;  the  power  of  its  countenance  ;  the 
power  of  its  presence  !  To  it  alone  comes  true  friend 
ship  ;  to  it  come  grandeur  of  situation  and  poetic  per 
ception,  enriching  all  it  deals  with. 

Once  men  thought  Spirit  divine,  and  Matter  diabolic  ; 
one  Ormuzd,  the  other  Ahriman.  Now  science  and 
philosophy  recognize  the  parallelism,  the  approximation, 
the  unity  of  the  two :  how  each  reflects  the  other  as 
face  answers  to  face  in  a  glass :  nay,  how  the  laws  of 
both  are  one,  or  how  one  is  the  realization.  We  are 
learning  not  to  fear  truth. 

The  man  of  this  age  must  be  matriculated  in  the  uni 
versity  of  sciences  and  tendencies  flowing  from  all  past 
periods.  He  must  not  be  one  who  can  be  surprised  and 


THE    SOVEREIGNTY   OF   ETHICS.  107 

shipwrecked  by  every  bold  or  subtile  word  which  malig 
nant  and  acute  men  may  utter  in  his  hearing,  but  should 
be  taught  all  skepticisms  and  unbeliefs,  and  made  the 
destroyer  of  all  card-houses  and  paper  walls,  and  the 
sifter  of  all  opinions,  by  being  put  face  to  face  from  his 
infancy  with  Reality. 

A  man  who  has  accustomed  himself  to  look  at  all  his 
circumstances  as  very  mutable,  to  carry  his  possessions, 
his  relations  to  persons,  and  even  his  opinions,  in  his 
hand,  and  in  all  these  to  pierce  to  the  principle  and 
moral  law,  and  everywhere  to  find  that,  —  has  put  him 
self  out  of  the  reach  of  all  skepticism  ;  and  it  seems  as 
if  whatever  is  most  affecting  and  sublime  in  our  inter 
course,  in  our  happiness,  and  in  our  losses,  tended  stead 
ily  to  uplift  ns  to  a  life  so  extraordinary,  and,  one  mighb 
say,  superhuman. 


THE  PREACHER, 


ASCENDING  thorough  just  degrees 
To  a  consummate  holiness, 
As  angel  blind  to  trespass  done, 
And  bleaching  all  souls  like  the  sun. 


THE  PKEACHER.1 


IN  the  history  of  opinion,  the  pinch  of  falsehood 
shows  itself  first,  not  in  argument  and  formal  protest, 
but  in  insincerity,  indifference  and  abandonment  of  the 
Church  or  the  scientific  or  political  or  economic  institu 
tion  for  other  better  or  worse  forms. 

The  venerable  and  beautiful  traditions  in  which  we 
were  educated  are  losing  their  hold  on  human  belief, 
day  by  day;  a  restlessness  and  dissatisfaction  in  the  re 
ligious  world  marks  that  we  are  in  a  moment  of  transi 
tion;  as  when  the  Roman  Church  broke  into  Protestant 
and  Catholic,  or,  earlier,  when  Paganism  broke  into 
Christians  and  Pagans.  The  old  forms  rattle,  and  the 
new  delay  to  appear  ;  material  and  industrial  activity 
have  materialized  the  age,  and  the  mind,  haughty  with 
its  sciences,  disdains  the  religious  forms  as  childish. 

In  consequence  of  this  revolution  in  opinion,  it  ap 
pears,  for  the  time,  as  the  misfortune  of  this  period  that 
the  cultivated  mind  has  not  the  happiness  and  dignity 
of  the  religious  sentiment.  We  are  born  too  late  for 
the  old  and  too  early  for  the  new  faith.  I  see  in  thoss 

1  Originally  written  as  a  parlor  lecture  to  some  Divinity  students,  in 
1867  ;  afterwards  enlarged  from  earlier  writings,  and  read  in  its  pres 
ent  form  at  the  Divinity  Chapel,  Cambridge,  May  5th,  1879.  Reprinted 
from  the  Unitarian  Review  for  January,  1880. 


172  THE  PREACHER. 

classes  and  those  persons  in  whom  I  am  accustomed  to 
look  for  tendency  and  progress,  for  what  is  most  posi  • 
tive  and  most  rich  in  human  nature,  and  who  contain 
the  activity  of  to-day  and  the  assurance  of  to-morrow,  — 
I  see  in  them  character,  but  skepticism;  a  clear  enough 
perception  of  the  inadequacy  of  the  popular  religious 
statement  to  the  wants  of  their  heart  and  intellect,  and 
explicit  declarations  of  this  fact.  They  have  insight 
and  truthfulness  ;  they  will  not  mask  their  convictions  ; 
they  hate  cant ;  but  more  than  this  I  do  not  readily 
find.  The  gracious  motions  of  the  soul,  —  piety,  ado 
ration,  —  I  do  not  find.  Scorn  of  hypocrisy,  pride  of 
personal  character,  elegance  of  taste  and  of  manners 
and  pursuit,  a  boundless  ambition  of  the  intellect,  will 
ingness  to  sacrifice  personal  interests  for  the  integrity 
of  the  character,  —  all  these  they  have  ;  but  that  re 
ligious  submission  and  abandonment  which  give  man 
a  new  element  and  being,  and  make  him  sublime,  —  it 
is  not  in  churches,  it  is  not  in  houses.  T  see  movement, 
I  hear  aspirations,  but  I  see  not  how  the  great  God  pre 
pares  to  satisfy  the  heart  in  the  new  order  of  things. 
No  Church,  no  State  emerges;  and  when  we  have  ex 
tricated  ourselves  from  all  the  embarrassments  of  the 
social  problem,  the  oracle  does  not  yet  emit  any  light 
on  the  mode  of  individual  life.  A  thousand  negatives 
it  utters,  clear  and  strong,  on  all  sides ;  but  the  sacred 
affirmative  it  hides  in  the  deepest  abyss. 

We  do  not  see  that  heroic  resolutions  will  save  men 
from  those  tides  which  a  most  fatal  moon  heaps  and 
levels  in  the  moral,  emotive  and  intellectual  nature.  It 
is  certain  that  many  dark  hours,  many  imbecilities, 
periods  of  inactivity,  —  solstices  when  we  make  no  prog 
ress,  but  stand  still,  —  will  occur.  In  those  hours,  we 


THE   PREACHER.  173 

ean  find  comfort  in  reverence  of  the  highest  power,  and 
only  in  that.  We  never  do  quite  nothing,  or  never  need. 
It  looks  as  if  there  were  much  doubt,  much  waiting,  to 
be  endured  by  the  best.  Perhaps  there  must  be  austere 
elections  and  determinations  before  any  clear  vision. 

No  age  and  no  person  is  destitute  of  the  sentiment, 
but  in  actual  history  its  illustrious  exhibitions  are  inter 
rupted  and  periodical,  —  the  ages  of  belief,  of  heroic 
action,  of  intellectual  activity,  of  men  cast  iii  a  higher 
mould. 

But  the  sentiment  that  pervades  a  nation,  the  nation 
must  react  upon.  It  is  resisted  and  corrupted  by  that 
obstinate  tendency  to  personify  and  bring  under  the 
eyesight  what  should  be  the  contemplation  of  Reason 
alone.  The  Understanding  will  write  out  the  vision  in 
a  Confession  of  Faith.  Art  will  embody  this  vanishing 
Spirit  in  temples,  pictures,  sculptures  and  hymns.  The 
senses  instantly  transfer  the  reverence  from  the  vanish 
ing  Spirit  to  this  steadfast  form.  Ignoranoe  and  pas 
sion  alloy  and  degrade.  In  proportion  to  a  man's  want 
of  goodness,  it  seems  to  him  another  and  not  himself; 
that  is  to  say,  the  Deity  becomes  more  objective,  until 
finally  flat  idolatry  prevails. 

Of  course  the  virtuous  sentiment  appears  arrayed 
against  the  nominal  religion,  and  the  true  men  are 
hunted  as  unbelievers,  and  burned.  Then  the  good 
sense  of  the  people  wakes  up  so  far  as  to  take  tacit  part 
with  them,  to  cast  off  reverence  for  the  Church ;  and 
there  follows  an  age  of  unbelief. 

This  analysis  was  inevitable  and  useful.  But  the 
sober  eye  finds  something  ghastly  in  this  empiricism. 
At  first,  delighted  with  the  triumph  of  the  intellect,  the 
surprise  of  the  results  and  the  sense  of  power,  we  are 


174  THE   PREACHER. 

like  hunters  on  the  scent  and  soldiers  who  rush  to  bat 
tle  :  but  when  the  game  is  run  down,  when  the  enemy 
lies  cold  in  his  blood  at  our  feet,  we  are  alarmed  at  our 
solitude  ;  we  would  gladly  recall  the  life  that  so  of 
fended  us  ;  the  face  seems  no  longer  that  of  an  enemy. 

I  say  the  effect  is  withering  ;  for,  this  examination  re 
sulting  in  the  constant  detection  of  errors,  the  flattered 
understanding  assumes  to  judge  all  things,  and  to  an 
ticipate  the  same  victories.  In  the  activity  of  the  un 
derstanding,  the  sentiments  sleep.  The  understanding 
presumes  in  things  above  its  sphere,  and,  because  it  has 
exposed  errors  in  a  church,  concludes  that  a  church  is 
an  error ;  because  it  has  found  absurdities  to  which  the 
sentiment  of  veneration  is  attached,  sneers  at  veneration  ; 
so  that  analysis  has  run  to  seed  in  unbelief.  There  is 
no  faith  left.  We  laugh  and  hiss,  pleased  with  our 
power  in  making  heaven  and  earth  a  howling  wilder 
ness. 

Unlovely,  nay,  frightful,  is  the  solitude  of  the  soul 
which  is  without  God  in  the  world.  To  wander  all  day 
in  the  sunlight  among  the  tribes  of  animals,  unrelated 
to  anything  better  ;  to  behold  the  horse,  cow  and  bird, 
and  to  foresee  an  equal  and  speedy  end  to  him  and 
them  ;  — no,  the  bird,  as  it  hurried  by  with  its  bold  and 
perfect  flight,  would  disclaim  his  sympathy  and  declare 
him  an  outcast.  To  see  men  pursuing  in  faith  their  va 
ried  action,  warm-hearted,  providing  for  their  children, 
loving  their  friends,  performing  their  promises,  —  what 
are  they  to  this  chill,  houseless,  fatherless,  aimless  Cain, 
the  man  who  hears  only  the  sound  of  his  own  footsteps 
in  God's  resplendent  creation  ?  To  him,  it  is  no  crea 
tion  ;  to  him,  these  fair  creatures  are  hapless  spectres  : 
he  knows  not  what  to  make  of  it.  To  him,  heaven  and 


THE   PREACHER.  175 

earth  have  lost  their  beauty.  How  gloomy  is  tha  day, 
and  upon  yonder  shining  pond  what  melancholy  light ! 
I  cannot  keep  the  sun  in  heaven,  if  you  take  away  the 
purpose  that  animates  him.  The  ball,  indeed,  is  there, 
but  his  power  to  cheer,  to  illuminate  the  heart  as  well 
as  the  atmosphere,  is  gone  forever.  It  is  a  lamp-wick 
for  meanest  uses.  The  words,  great,  venerable,  have  lost 
their  meaning;  every  thought  loses  all  its  depth  and  has 
become  mere  surface. 

But  religion  has  an  object.  It  does  not  grow  thin  or 
robust  with  the  health  of  the  votary.  The  object  of 
adoration  remains  forever  unhurt  and  identical.  We 
are  in  transition,  from  the  worship  of  the  fathers  which 
enshrined  the  law  in  a  private  and  personal  history,  to 
a  worship  which  recognizes  the  true  eternity  of  the  law, 
its  presence  to  you  and  me,  its  equal  energy  in  what  is 
called  brute  nature  as  in  what  is  called  sacred.  The 
next  age  will  behold  God  in  the  ethical  laws  —  as  man 
kind  begins  to  see  them  in  this  age,  self -equal,  self-ex 
ecuting,  instantaneous  and  self  -  affirmed ;  needing  no 
voucher,  no  prophet  and  no  miracle  besides  their  own 
irresistibility,  —  and  will  regard  natural  history,  private 
fortunes  and  politics,  not  for  themselves,  as  we  have 
done,  but  as  illustrations  of  those  laws,  of  that  beati 
tude  and  love.  Nature  is  too  thin  a  screen  ;  the  glory 
of  the  One  breaks  in  everywhere. 

Every  movement  of  religious  opinion  is  of  profound 
importance  to  politics  and  social  life  ;  and  this  of  to 
day  has  the  best  omens  as  being  of  the  most  expansive 
humanity,  since  it  seeks  to  find  in  every  nation  and 
creed  the  imperishable  doctrines.  I  find  myself  always 
struck  and  stimulated  by  a  good  anecdote,  any  trait  of 
heroism,  of  faithful  service.  I  do  not  find  that  the  age 


176  THE    PREACHER. 

or  country  makes  the  least  difference  ;  no,  nor  the  lan 
guage  the  actors  spoke,  nor  the  religion  which  they  pro 
fessed,  whether  Arab  in  the  desert,  or  Frenchman  in  the 
Academy.  I  see  that  sensible  men  and  conscientious 
men  all  over  the  world  were  of  one  religion,  —  the  relig 
ion  of  well-doing  and  daring,  men  of  sturdy  truth,  men 
of  integrity  and  feeling  for  others.  My  inference  is  that 
there  is  a  statement  of  religion  possible  which  makes  all 
skepticism  absurd. 

The  health  and  welfare  of  man  consist  in  ascent  from 
surfaces  to  solids;  from  occupation  with  details  to 
knowledge  of  the  design;  from  self-activity  of  talents, 
which  lose  their  way  by  the  lust  of  display,  to  the  con 
trolling  and  reinforcing  of  talents  by  the  emanation  of 
character.  All  that  we  call  religion,  all  that  saints  and 
churches  and  Bibles  from  the  beginning  of  the  world 
have  aimed  at,  is  to  suppress  this  impertinent  surface- 
action,  and  animate  man  to  central  and  entire  action. 
The  human  race  are  afflicted  with  a  St.  Vitus'  dance ; 
their  fingers  and  toes,  their  members,  their  senses,  their 
talents,  are  supei-fluonsly  active,  while  the  torpid  heart 
gives  no  oracle.  When  that  wakes,  it  will  revolutionize 
the  world.  Let  that  speak,  and  all  these  rebels  will  fly 
to  their  loyalty.  Nbw  every  man  defeats  his  own  ac 
tion,  —  professes  this  but  practises  the  reverse  ;  with 
one  hand  rows,  and  with  the  other  backs  water.  A 
man  acts  not  from  one  motive,  but  from  many  shifting 
fears  and  short  motives  ;  it  is  as  if  he  were  ten  or  twenty 
less  men  than  himself,  acting  at  discord  with  one 
another,  so  that  the  result  of  most  lives  is  zero.  But 
when  he  shall  act  from  one  motive,  and  all  liis  faculties 
play  true,  it  is  clear  mathematically,  is  it  not,  that  this 
will  tell  in  the  result  as  if  twenty  men  had  co-operated, 


THE  PREACHER.  177 

• —  will  give  new  senses,  new  wisdom  of  its  own  kind  ; 
that  is,  not  more  facts,  nor  new  combinations,  but  divi 
nation,  or  direct  intuition  of  the  state  of  men  and 
things  ? 

The  lessons  of  the  moral  sentiment  are,  once  for  all, 
an  emancipation  from  that  anxiety  which  takes  the  joy 
out  of  all  life.  Tt  teaches  a  great  peace.  It  comes  it 
self  from  the  highest  place.  It  is  that,  which  being  in 
all  sound  natures,  and  strongest  in  the  best  and  most 
gifted  men,  we  know  to  be  implanted  by  the  Creator  of 
Men.  It  is  a  commandment  at  every  moment  and 
in  every  condition  of  life  to  do  the  duty  of  that  mo 
ment  and  to  abstain  from  doing  the  wrong.  And  it  is 
so  near  and  inward  and  constitutional  to  each,  that 
no  commandment  can  compare  with  it  in  authority. 
All  wise  men  regard  it  as  the  voice  of  the  Creator  him 
self. 

I  know  there  are  those  to  whom  the  question  of  what 
shall  be  believed  is  the  more  interesting  because  they 
are  to  proclaim  and  teach  what  they  believe. 

All  positive  rules,  ceremonial,  ecclesiastical,  distinc 
tions  of  race  or  of  person,  are  perishable;  only  those 
distinctions  hold  which  are  in  the  nature  of  things,  not 
matters  of  positive  ordinance.  As  the  earth  we  stand 
upon  is  not  imperishable,  but  is  chemically  resolvable 
into  gases  and  nebulae,  so  is  the  universe  an  infinite 
series  of  planes,  each  of  which  is  a  false  bottom ;  and, 
when  we  tliink  our  feet  are  planted  now  at  last  on  ad&- 
mant,  the  slide  is  drawn  out  from  under  us. 

We  must   reconcile  ourselves  to  the  new  order  of 

things.     But  is  it  a  calamity  ?      The  poet  Wordsworth 

greeted  even  the  steam-engine  and  railroads  ;  and  when 

they  came  into  his  poetic  Westmoreland,  bisecting  every 

12 


178  THE    PREACHER. 

delightful  valley,  deforming  every  consecrated  grove, 
yet  manned  himself  to  say  :  — 

"  In  spite  of  all  that  Beauty  may  disown 
In  your  harsh  features,  Nature  doth  embrace 
Her  lawful  offspring  iu  man's  art,  and  Time, 
Pleased  with  your  triumphs  o'er  his  brother  Space, 
Accepts  from  your  bold  hands  the  proffered  crown 
Of  hope,  and  smiles  on  you  with  cheer  sublime." 

And  we  can  keep  our  religion,  despite  of  the  violent 
railroads  of  generalization,  whether  French  or  German, 
that  block  and  intersect  our  old  parish  highways. 

In  matters  of  religion,  men  eagerly  fasten  their  eyes 
on  the  differences  between  their  creed  and  yours,  whilst 
the  charm  of  the  study  is  in  finding  the  agreements  and 
identities  in  all  the  religions  of  men.  What  is  essen 
tial  to  the  theologian  is,  that  whilst  he  is  select  in  his 
opinions,  severe  in  his  search  for  truth,  he  shall  be  broad 
in  his  sympathies ,  —  not  to  allow  himself  to  be  excluded 
from  any  church.  He  is  to  claim  for  his  own  whatever 
eloquence  of  St.  Chrysostom  or  St.  Jerome  or  St.  Ber 
nard  he  has  felt.  So  not  less  of  Bishop  Taylor  or 
George  Herbert  or  Henry  Scougal.  He  sees  that  what 
is  most  effective  in  the  writer  is  what  is  dear  to  his,  the 
reader's,  mind. 

Be  not  betrayed  into  undervaluing  the  churches  which 
annoy  you  by  their  bigoted  claims.  They  too  were  real 
churches.  They  answered  to  their  times  the  same  need 
as  your  rejection  of  them  does  to  ours.  The  Catholic 
Church  has  been  immensely  rich  in  men  and  influences. 
Augustine,  a  Kempis,  Fenelon,  breathe  the  very  spirit 
which  now  fires  you.  So  with  Cudworth,  Moore,  Bun- 
yan.  I  agree  with  them  more  than  I  disagree.  I  agree 
with  their  heart  and  motive  ;  my  discontent  is  with  their 
limitations  and  surface  and  language.  Their  statement 


THE   PREACHER.  179 

is  grown  as  fabulous  as  Dante's  Inferno.  Their  purpose 
is  as  real  as  Dante's  sentiment  and  hatred  of  vice.  Al 
ways  put  the  best  interpretation  on  a  tenet.  Why  not 
on  Christianity,  wholesome,  sweet  and  poetic  ?  It  is 
the  record  of  a  pure  and  holy  soul,  humble,  absolutely 
disinterested,  a  truth  -  speaker  and  bent  on  serving, 
teaching  and  uplifting  men.  Christianity  taught  the 
capacity,  the  element,  to  love  the  All-perfect  without  a 
stingy  bargain  for  personal  happiness.  It  taught  that 
to  love  him  was  happiness,  —  to  love  him  in  other's 
virtues. 

An  era  in  human  history  is  the  life  of  Jesus  ;  and  the 
immense  influence  for  good  leaves  all  the  perversion 
and  superstition  almost  harmless.  Mankind  have  been 
subdued  to  the  acceptance  of  his  doctrine,  and  cannot 
spare  the  benefit  of  so  pure  a  servant  of  truth  and  love. 

Of  course  a  hero  so  attractive  to  the  hearts  of  mil 
lions  drew  the  hypocrite  and  the  ambitious  into  his 
train,  and  they  used  his  name  to  falsify  his  history  and 
undo  his  work.  I  fear  that  what  is  called  religion,  but 
is  perhaps  pew -holding,  not  obeys  but  conceals  the 
moral  sentiment.  I  put  it  to  this  simple  test :  Is  a  rich 
rogue  made  to  feel  his  roguery  among  divines  or  liter 
ary  men  ?  No  ?  Then  't  is  rogue  again  under  the  cas 
sock.  What  sort  of  respect  can  these  preachers  or 
newspapers  inspire  by  their  weekly  praises  of  texts  and 
saints,  when  we  know  that  they  would  say  just  the  same 
things  if  Beelzebub  had  written  the  chapter,  provided  it 
stood  where  it  does  in  the  public  opinion  ? 

Anything  but  unbelief,  anything  but  losing  hold  of 
the  moral  intuitions,  as  betrayed  in  the  clinging  to  a 
form  of  devotion  or  a  theological  dogma  ;  as  if  it  was 
the  liturgy,  or  the  chapel,  thaf  was  sacred,  and  not 


180  THE    PREACHER. 

justice  and  humility  and  the  loving  heart  and  serving 
hand. 

But  besides  the  passion  and  interest  which  pervert; 
is  the  shallowness  which  impoverishes.  The  opinions 
of  men  lose  all  worth  to  him  who  perceives  that  they 
are  accurately  predictable  from  the  ground  of  their 
sect.  Nothing  is  more  rare,  in  any  man,  than  an  act 
of  his  own.  The  clergy  are  as  like  as  peas.  I  cannot 
tell  them  apart.  It  was  said  :  They  have  bronchitis 
because  they  read  from  their  papers  sermons  with  a 
near  voice,  and  then,  looking  at  the  congregation,  they 
try  to  speak  with  their  far  voice,  and  the  shock  is  nox 
ious.  I  think  they  do  this,  or  the  converse  of  this, 
with  their  thought.  They  look  into  Plato,  or  into  the 
mind,  and  then  try  to  make  parish  mince-meat  of  the 
amplitudes  and  eternities,  and  the  shock  is  noxious.  It 
is  the  old  story  again  :  once  we  had  wooden  chalices 
and  golden  priests,  now  we  have  golden  chalices  and 
wooden  priests. 

The  clergy  are  always  in  danger  of  becoming  wards 
and  pensioners  of  the  so-called  producing  classes.  Their 
first  duty  is  self-possession  founded  on  knowledge.  The 
man  of  practice  or  worldly  force  requires  of  the  preacher 
a  talent,  a  force,  like  his  own  ;  the  same  as  his  own, 
but  wholly  applied  to  the  priest's  things.  He  does  not 
forgive  an  application  in  the  preacher  to  the  merchant's 
things.  He  wishes  him  to  be  such  a  one  as  he  himself 
should  have  been,  had  he  been  priest.  He  is  sincere 
and  ardent  in  his  vocation,  and  plunged  in  it.  Let 
priest  or  poet  be  as  good  in  theirs. 

The  simple  fact  that  the  pulpit  exists,  that  all  over 
this  country  the  people  are  waiting  to  hear  a  sermon  on 
Sunday,  assures  that  opportunity  which  is  inestimable 


THE   PREACHER.  181 

to  young  men,  students  of  theology,  for  those  large 
liberties.  The  existence  of  the  Sunday,  and  the  pulpit 
waiting  for  a  weekly  sermon,  give  him  the  very  con 
ditions,  the  irov  err<£  he  wants.  That  must  be  filled,  and 
he  is  armed  to  fill  it.  Let  him  value  his  talent  as  a 
door  into  Nature.  Let  him  see  his  performances  only 
as  limitations.  Then,  over  all,  let  him  value  the  sensi 
bility  that  receives,  that  loves,  that  dares,  that  affirms. 

There  are  always  plenty  of  young,  ignorant  people, 
—  though  some  of  them  are  seven,  and  some  of  them 
seventy  years  old,  —  wanting  peremptorily  instruction; 
but,  in  the  usual  averages  of  parishes,  only  one  person 
that  is  qualified  to  give  it.  It  is  only  that  person  who 
concerns  me,  —  him  only  that  I  see.  The  others  are 
very  amiable  and  promising,  but  they  are  only  neuters 
in  the  hive,  —  every  one  a  possible  royal  bee,  but  not 
now  significant.  It  does  not  signify  what  they  say  or 
think  to-day  ;  't  is  the  cry  and  the  babble  of  the  nurs 
ery,  and  their  only  virtue,  docility.  Buckminster,  Chan- 
ning,  Dr.  Lowell,  Edward  Taylor,  Parker,  Bushnell, 
Chapin,  —  it  is  they  who  have  been  necessary,  and  the 
opinions  of  the  tlo.iting  crowd  of  no  importance  whatever. 

I  do  not  love  sensation  preaching,  —  the  personali 
ties  for  spite,  the  hurrah  for  our  side,  the  review  of  our 
appearances  and  what  others  say  of  us  !  That  you  may 
read  in  the  gazette.  We  come  to  church  properly  for 
self-examination,  for  approach  to  principles  to  see  how 
it  stands  with  us,  with  the  deep  and  dear  facts  of  right 
and  love.  At  the  same  time  it  is  impossible  to  pay  no 
regard  to  the  day's  events,  to  the  public  opinion  of  the 
times,  to  the  stirring  shouts  of  parties,  to  the  calamities 
and  prosperities  of  our  town  and  country  ;  to  war  and 
peace,  new  events,  great  personages,  to  good  harvests, 


182  THE  PREACHER. 

new  resources,  to  bankruptcies,  famines  and  desolations. 
We  are  not  stocks  or  stones,  we  are  not  thinking  ma 
chines,  but  allied  to  men  around  us,  as  really  though 
not  quite  so  visibly  as  the  Siamese  brothers.  And  it 
were  inhuman  to  affect  ignorance  or  indifference  on 
Sundays  to  what  makes  our  blood  beat  and  our  coun 
tenance  dejected  Saturday  or  Monday.  No,  these  are 
fair  tests  to  try  our  doctrines  by,  and  see  if  they  are 
worth  anything  in  life.  The  value  of  a  principle  is  the 
number  of  things  it  will  explain  ;  and  there  is  no  good 
theory  of  disease  which  does  not  at  once  suggest  a  cure. 

Man  proposes,  but  God  disposes.  We  shall  not  very 
long  have  any  part  or  lot  in  this  earth,  in  whose  affairs 
we  so  hotly  mix,  and  where  we  feel  and  speak  so  ener 
getically  of  our  country  and  our  cause.  It  is  a  com 
fort  to  reflect  that  the  gigantic  evils  which  seem  to  us 
so  mischievous  and  so  incurable  will  at  last  end  them 
selves  and  rid  the  world  of  their  presence,  as  all  crime 
sooner  or  later  must.  But  be  that  event  for  us  soon  or 
late,  we  are  not  excused  from  playing  our  short  part  in 
the  best  manner  we  can,  no  matter  how  insignificant 
our  aid  may  be.  Our  children  will  be  here,  if  we  are 
not;  and  their  children's  history  will  be  colored  by  our 
action.  But  if  we  have  no  children,  or  if  the  events  in 
which  we  have  taken  our  part  shall  not  see  their  solu 
tion  until  a  distant  future,  there  is  yet  a  deeper  fact  ; 
that  as  much  justice  as  we  can  see  and  practise  is  use 
ful  to  men,  and  imperative,  whether  we  can  see  it  to  be 
useful  or  not. 

The  essential  ground  of  a  new  book  or  a  new  sermon 
is  a  new  spirit.  The  author  has  a  new  thought,  sees 
the  sweep  of  a  more  comprehensive  tendency  than  others 
are  aware  of  ;  falters  never,  but  takes  the  victorious 


THE   PREACHER.  183 

tone.  For  power  is  not  so  much  shown  in  talent  as  in 
tone.  And  if  I  had  to  counsel  a  young  preacher,  I 
should  say  :  When  there  is  any  difference  felt  between 
the  foot-board  of  the  pulpit  and  the  floor  of  the  parlor, 
you  have  not  yet  said  that  which  you  should  say. 

Inspiration  will  have  advance,  affirmation,  the  for 
ward  foot,  the  ascending  state  ;  it  will  be  an  opener  of 
doors  ;  it  will  invent  its  own  methods  :  the  new  wine  will 
make  the  bottles  new.  Spirit  is  motive  and  ascending. 
Only  let  there  be  a  deep  observer,  and  he  will  make 
light  of  new  shop  and  new  circumstance  that  afflict 
you  ;  new  shop,  or  old  cathedral,  it  is  all  one  to  him. 
He  will  find  the  circumstance  not  altered,  as  deep  a 
cloud  of  mystery  on  the  cause,  as  dazzling  a  glory  on 
the  invincible  law.  Given  the  insight,  and  he  will  find 
as  many  beauties  and  heroes  and  strokes  of  genius  close 
by  him  as  Dante  or  Shakspeare  beheld.  A  vivid  thought 
brings  the  power  to  paint  it  ;  and  in  proportion  to  the 
depth  of  its  source  is  the  force  of  its  projection.  We 
are  happy  and  enriched  ;  we  go  away  invigorated,  as 
sisted  each  in  our  own  work,  however  different,  and 
shall  not  forget  to  come  again  for  new  impulses. 

The  supposed  embarrassments  to  young  clergymen 
exist  only  to  feeble  wills.  They  need  not  consider  them. 
The  differences  of  opinion,  the  strength  of  old  sects  or 
timorous  literalists,  since  it  is  not  armed  with  prisons 
or  fagots  as  in  ruder  times  or  countries,  is  not  worth 
considering  except  as  furnishing  a  needed  stimulus. 
That  gray  deacon  or  respectable  matron  with  Calvin- 
istic  antecedents,  you  can  readily  see,  could  not  have 
presented  any  obstacle  to  the  march  of  St.  Bernard  or 
of  George  Fox,  of  Luther  or  of  Theodore  Parker.  And 
though  I  observe  the  deafness  to  counsel  among  men, 


184  THE   PREACHER. 

yet  the  power  of  sympathy  is  always  great ;  and  affirm 
ative  discourse,  presuming  assent,  will  often  obtain  it 
when  argument  would  fail.  Such,  too,  is  the  active 
power  of  good  temperament.  Great  sweetness  of  tem 
per  neutralizes  such  vast  amounts  of  acid  !  As  for 
position,  the  position  is  always  the  same,  —  insulting 
the  timid,  and  not  taken  by  storm,  but  flanked,  I  may 
say,  by  the  resolute,  simply  by  minding  their  own  affair. 
Speak  the  affirmative  ;  emphasize  your  choice  by  utter 
ignoring  of  all  that  you  reject ;  seeing  that  opinions  are 
temporary,  but  convictions  uniform  and  eternal,  —  see 
ing  that  a  sentiment  never  loses  its  pathos  or  its  per 
suasion,  but  is  youthful  after  a  thousand  years. 

The  inevitable  course  of  remark  for  us.  when  we  meet 
each  other  for  meditation  on  life  and  duty,  is  not  so 
much  the  enjoining  of  this  or  that  cure  or  burning  out 
of  our  errors  of  practice,  as  simply  the  celebration  of 
the  power  and  beneficence  amid  which  and  by  which  we 
live,  not  critical,  but  affirmative. 

All  civil  mankind  have  agreed  in  leaving  one  day  for 
contemplation  against  six  for  practice.  I  hope  that  day 
will  keep  its  honor  and  its  use.  A  wise  man  advises 
that  we  should  see  to  it  that  we  read  and  speak  two  or 
three  reasonable  words,  every  day,  amid  the  crowd  of 
affairs  and  the  noise  of  trifles.  I  should  say  boldly  that 
we  should  astonish  every  day  by  a  beam  out  of  eternity  ; 
retire  a  moment  to  the  grand  secret  we  carry  in  our 
bosom,  of  inspiration  from  heaven.  But  certainly  on 
this  seventh  let  us  be  the  children  of  liberty,  of  reason, 
of  hope  ;  refresh  the  sentiment  ;  think  as  spirits  think, 
who  belong  to  the  universe,  whilst  our  feet  walk  in  the 
streets  of  a  little  town  and  our  hands  work  in  a  small 
knot  of  affairs.  We  shall  find  one  result,  I  am  sure, 


THE   PREACHER.  185 

• — a  certain  originality  and  a  certain  haughty  liberty 
proceeding  out  of  our  retirement  and  self-communion, 
which  streets  can  never  give,  infinitely  removed  from 
all  vaporing  and  bravado,  and  which  yet  is  more  than  a 
match  for  any  physical  resistance.  It  is  true  that  which 
they  say  of  our  New  England  cestrum,  which  will  never 
let  us  stand  or  sit,  but  drives  us  like  mad  through  the 
world.  The  calmest  and  most  protected  life  cannot 
save  us.  We  want  some  intercalated  days,  to  bethink 
us  and  to  derive  order  to  our  life  from  the  heart.  That 
should  be  the  use  of  the  Sabbath,  —  to  check  this  head 
long  racing  and  put  us  in  possession  of  ourselves  once 
more,  for  love  or  for  shame. 

The  Sabbath  changes  its  forms  from  age  to  age,  but 
the  substantial  benefit  endures.  We  no  longer  recite 
the  old  creeds  of  Athanasius  or  Arius,  of  Calvin  or 
Hopkins.  The  forms  are  flexible,  but  the  uses  not  less 
real.  The  old  heart  remains  as  ever  with  its  old  human 
duties.  The  old  intellect  still  lives,  to  pierce  the  shows 
to  the  core.  Truth  is  simple,  and  will  not  be  antique  ; 
is  ever  present,  and  insists  on  being  of  this  age  and  of 
this  moment.  Here  is  thought  and  love  and  truth  and 
duty,  new  as  on  the  first  day  of  Adam  and  of  angels. 

"  There  are  two  pairs  of  eyes  in  man  ;  and  it  is  req 
uisite  that  the  pair  which  are  beneath  should  be  closed 
when  the  pair  that  are  above  them  perceive  ;  and  that 
when  the  pair  above  are  closed,  those  which  are  be 
neath  are  opened."  The  lower  eyes  see  only  surfaces 
and  effects,  the  upper  eyes  behold  causes  and  the  con 
nection  of  things.  And  when  we  go  alone,  or  come  into 
the  house  of  thought  and  worship,  we  come  with  pur 
pose  to  be  disabused  of  appearances,  to  see  realities,  the 
great  lines  of  our  destiny,  to  see  that  life  has  no  caprice 


186  THE   PREACHER. 

or  fortune,  is  no  hopping  squib,  but  a  growth  after  im 
mutable  laws  under  beneficent  influences  the  most  im 
mense.  The  Church  is  open  to  great  and  small  in  all 
nations  ;  and  how  rare  and  lofty,  how  unattainable,  are 
the  aims  it  labors  to  set  before  men  !  We  come  to 
educate,  come  to  isolate,  to  be  abstractionists  ;  in  fine, 
to  open  the  upper  eyes  to  the  deep  mystery  of  cause 
and  effect,  to  know  that  though  ministers  of  justice  and 
power  fail,  Justice  and  Power  fail  never.  The  open 
secret  of  the  world  is  the  art  of  subliming  a  private  soul 
with  inspirations  from  the  great  and  public  and  divine 
Soul  from  which  we  live. 


THE   MAN   OF  LETTERS. 


ON  Bravely  through  the  sunshine  and  the  showers, 
Time  hath  his  work  to  do,  and  we  have  ours. 


So  nigh  is  grandeur  to  our  dust, 

So  near  is  (ioa  to  man ; 
When  Duty  whispers  low  '  Thou  must,- 

The  youth  replies,  '  I  can.' 


THE  MAN  OF   LETTERS. 


IK   ADDKESS    DELIVERED    BEFORE  THE    UTMtARY   SOCIETIES  OF  WATERVILLE 
COLLEGE,  1863. 


GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  LITERARY  SOCIETIES:  — 

Some  of  you  are  to-day  saying  your  farewells  to  each 
other,  and  to-morrow  will  receive  the  parting  honors 
of  the  College.  You  go  to  be  teachers,  to  become  phy 
sicians,  lawyers,  divines  ;  in  due  course,  statesmen,  nat 
uralists,  philanthropists  ;  I  hope,  some  of  you,  to  be  the 
men  of  letters,  critics,  philosophers  ;  perhaps  the  rare 
gift  of  poetry  already  sparkles,  and  may  yet  burn.  At 
all  events,  before  the  shadows  of  these  times  darken 
over  your  youthful  sensibility  and  candor,  let  me  use 
the  occasion  which  your  kind  request  gives  me,  to  offer 
you  some  counsels  which  an  old  scholar  may  without 
pretension  bring  to  youth,  in  regard  to  the  career  of 
letters,  —  the  power  and  joy  that  belong  to  it,  and  its 
high  office  in  evil  times.  I  offer  perpetual  congratula 
tion  to  the  scholar  ;  he  has  drawn  the  white  lot  in  life. 
The  very  disadvantages  of  his  condition  point  at  superi 
orities.  He  is  too  good  for  the  world  ;  he  is  in  advance 
of  his  race  ;  his  function  is  prophetic.  He  belongs  to 
a  superior  society,  and  is  born  one  or  two  centuries  too 
early  for  the  rough  and  sensual  population  into  which 
he  is  throwu.  But  the  Heaven  which  seut  him  hither 


100  THE   MAN   OF   LETTERS. 

knew  that  well  enough,  and  sent  him  as  a  leader  to 
lead.  Are  men  perplexed  with  evil  times  ?  The  invi 
olate  soul  is  in  perpetual  telegraphic  communication 
with  the  source  of  events.  He  has  earlier  information, 
a  private  despatch  which  relieves  him  of  the  terror 
which  prasses  on  the  rest  of  the  community.  He  is  a 
learner  of  the  laws  of  nature  and  the  experiences  of 
history  ;  a  prophet  surrendered  with  self-abandoning 
sincerity  to  the  Heaven  which  pours  through  him  its 
will  to  mankind. 

This  is  the  theory,  but  you  know  how  far  this  is  from 
the  fact,  that  nothing  has  been  able  to  resist  the  tide  with 
which  the  material  prosperity  of  America  in  years  past 
has  beat  down  the  hope  of  youth,  the  piety  of  learning. 
The  country  was  full  of  activity,  with  its  wheat,  coal, 
iron,  cotton  ;  the  wealth  of  the  globe  was  here,  too  much 
work  and  not  men  enough  to  do  it.  Britain,  France, 
Germany,  Scandinavia  sent  millions  of  laborers  ;  still 
the  need  was  more.  Every  kind  of  skill  was  in  de 
mand,  and  the  bribe  came  to  men  of  intellectual  culture, 
—  Come,  drudge  in  our  mill.  America  at  large  exhib 
ited  such  a  confusion  as  California  showed  in  1849,  when 
the  cry  of  gold  was  first  raised.  All  the  distinctions  of 
profession  and  habit  ended  at  the  mines.  All  the  world 
took  off  their  coats  and  worked  in  shirt-sleeves.  Law 
yers  went  and  came  with  pick  and  wheelbarrow;  doc 
tors  of  medicine  turned  teamsters ;  stray  clergymen 
kept  the  bar  in  saloons  ;  professors  of  colleges  sold  ci 
gars,  mince-pies,  matches,  and  so  on.  It  is  th'e  perpet 
ual  tendency  of  wealth  to  draw  on  the  spiritual  class, 
not  in  this  coarse  way,  but  in  plausible  and  covert  ways. 
It  is  charged  that  all  vigorous  nations,  except  our  own, 
have  balanced  their  labor  by  mental  activity,  and  espe- 


THE   MAN   OF   LETTERS.  191 

cially  by  the  imagination,  —  the  cardinal  human  power, 
the  angel  of  earnest  and  believing  ages.  The  subtle 
Hindoo,  who  carried  religion  to  ecstasy  and  philosophy 
to  idealism,  produced  the  wonderful  epics  of  which,  in 
the  present  century,  the  translations  have  added  new 
regions  to  thought.  The  Egyptian  built  Thebes  and 
Karnak  on  a  scale  which  dwarfs  our  art,  and  by  the 
paintings  on  their  interior  walls  invited  us  into  the  secret 
of  the  religious  belief  whence  he  drew  such  power.  The 
Greek  was  so  perfect  in  action  and  in  imagination,  his 
poems,  from  Homer  to  Euripides,  so  charming  in  form 
and  so  true  to  the  human  mind,  that  we  cannot  forget 
or  outgrow  their  mythology.  The  Hebrew  nation  com 
pensated  for  the  insignificance  of  its  members  and  ter 
ritory  by  its  religious  genius,  its  tenacious  belief;  its 
poems  and  histories  cling  to  the  soil  of  this  globe  like 
the  primitive  rocks.  On  the  south  and  east  shores  of 
the  Mediterranean,  Mahomet  impressed  his  fierce  genius 
how  deeply  into  the  manners,  language  and  poetry  of 
Arabia  and  Persia  !  See  the  activity  of  the  imagination 
in  the  Crusades  :  the  front  of  morn  was  full  of  fiery 
shapes  ;  the  chasm  was  bridged  over  ;  heaven  walked 
on  earth,  and  Earth  could  see  with  eyes  the  Paradise 
and  the  Inferno.  Dramatic  "  mysteries  "  were  the  en 
tertainment  of  the  people.  Parliaments  of  Love  and 
Poesy  served  them,  instead  of  the  House  of  Commons, 
Congress  and  the  newspapers.  In  Puritanism,  how  the 
whole  Jewish  history  became  flesh  and  blood  in  those 
men,  let  Bunyan  show.  Now  it  is  agreed  that  we  are 
utilitarian  ;  that  we  are  skeptical,  frivolous  ;  that  with 
universal  cheap  education  we  have  stringent  theology, 
but  religion  is  low.  There  is  much  criticism,  not  on 
deep  grounds,  but  an  affirmative  philosophy  is  wanting. 


192  THE   MAN   OF   LETTERS. 

Our  profoundest  philosophy  (if  it  were  not  contradiction 
in  terms)  is  skepticism.  The  great  poem  of  the  age 
is  the  disagreeable  poem  of  "  Faust,"  —  of  which  the 
"  Festus  "  of  Bailey  and  the  "  Paracelsus  "  of  Brown 
ing  are  English  variations.  We  have  superficial  sci 
ences,  restless,  gossiping,  aimless  activity.  We  run  to 
Paris,  to  London,  to  Rome,  to  Mesmerism,  Spiritualism, 
to  Pusey,  to  the  Catholic  Church,  as  if  for  the  want  of 
thought,  and  those  who  would  check  and  guide  have  a 
dreary  feeling  that  in  the  change  and  decay  of  the  old 
creeds  and  motives  there  was  no  offset  to  supply  their 
place.  Our  industrial  skill,  arts  ministering  to  conven 
ience  and  luxury,  have  made  life  expensive,  and  there 
fore  greedy,  careful,  anxious  ;  have  turned  the  eyes 
downward  to  the  earth,  not  upward  to  thought. 

Ernest  Renan  finds  that  Europe  has  thrice  assembled 
for  exhibitions  of  industry,  and  not  a  poem  graced  the 
occasion  ;  and  nobody  remarked  the  defect.  A  French 
prophet  of  our  age,  Fourier,  predicted  that  one  day, 
instead  of  by  battles  and  (Ecumenical  Councils,  the 
rival  portions  of  humanity  would  dispute  each  other's 
excellence  in  the  manufacture  of  little  cakes. 

"  In  my  youth,"  said  a  Scotch  mountaineer,  "  a 
Highland  gentleman  measured  his  importance  by  the 
number  of  men  his  domain  could  support.  After  some 
time  the  question  was,  to  know  how  many  great  cat 
tle  it  would  feed.  To-day  we  are  come  to  count  the 
number  of  sheep.  I  suppose  posterity  will  ask  how 
many  rats  and  mice  it  will  feed." 

Dickens  complained  that  in  America,  as  soon  as  he 
arrived  in  any  of  the  Western  towns,  a  committee 
waited  on  him  and  invited  him  to  deliver  a  temperance 
lecture.  Bowditch  translated  Laplace,  and  when  he 


THE   MAN   OF   LETTERS.  193 

removed  to  Boston,  the  Hospital  Life  Assurance  Com 
pany  insisted  that  he  should  make  their  tables  of  annu 
ities.  Napoleon  knows  the  art  of  war,  but  should  not 
be  put  on  picket  duty.  Linnseus  or  Robert  Brown 
must  not  be  set  to  raise  gooseberries  and  cucumbers, 
though  they  be  excellent  botanists.  A  shrewd  broker 
out  of  State  Street  visited  a  quiet  countryman  possessed 
of  all  the  virtues,  and  in  his  glib  talk  said,  "  With  your 
character  now  I  could  raise  all  this  money  at  once,  and 
make  an  excellent  thing  of  it." 

There  is  an  oracle  current  in  the  world,  that  nations 
die  by  suicide.  The  sign  of  it  is  the  decay  of  thought. 
Niebuhr  has  given  striking  examples  of  that  fatal  por 
tent  ;  as  in  the  loss  of  power  of  thought  that  followed 
the  disasters  of  the  Athenians  in  Sicily. 

I  cannot  forgive  a  scholar  his  homeless  despondency. 
He  represents  intellectual  or  spiritual  force.  I  wish 
him  to  rely  on  the  spiritual  arm  ;  to  live  by  his  strength, 
not  by  his  weakness.  A  scholar  defending  the  cause  of 
slavery,  of  arbitrary  government,  of  monopoly,  of  the 
oppressor,  is  a  traitor  to  his  profession.  He  has  ceased 
to  be  a  scholar.  He  is  not  company  for  clean  people. 
The  worst  times  only  show  him  how  independent  he  is 
of  times  ;  only  relieve  and  bring  out  the  splendor  of  his 
privilege.  Disease  alarms  the  family,  but  the  physi 
cian  sees  in  it  a  temporary  mischief,  which  he  can  check 
and  expel.  The.  fears  and  agitations  of  men  who  watch 
the  markets,  the  crops,  the  plenty  or  scarcity  of  money, 
or  other  superficial  events,  are  not  for  him.  He  knows 
that  the  world  is  always  equal  to  itself  ;  that  the  forces 
which  uphold  and  pervade  it  are  eternal.  Air,  water, 
fire,  iron,  gold,  wheat,  eiectricity,  animal  fibre,  have  not 
lost  a  particle  of  power,  and  no  decay  has  crept  over  the 
13 


194  THE   MAN    OF   LETTERS. 

spiritual  force  which  gives  bias  and  period  to  boundless 
nature.  Bad  times,  —  what  are  bad  times  ?  Nature  is 
rich,  exuberant,  and  mocks  at  the  puny  forces  of  destruc 
tion.  Man  makes  no  more  impression  on  her  wealth 
than  the  caterpillar  or  the  cankerworm  whose  petty 
ravage,  though  noticed  in  an  orchard  or  a  village,  is 
insignificant  in  the  vast  exuberance  of  the  summer. 
There  is  no  unemployed  force  in  Nature.  All  decom 
position  is  recomposition.  War  disorganizes,  but  it  is 
to  reorganize.  Weeks,  months  pass  —  a  new  harvest ; 
trade  springs  up,  and  there  stand  new  cities,  new  homes, 
all  rebuilt  and  sleepy  with  permanence.  Italy,  France, 
—  a  hundred  times  those  countries  have  been  trampled 
with  armies  and  burned  over :  a  few  summers,  and  they 
smile  with  plenty  and  yield  new  men  and  new  revenues. 

If  churches  are  effete,  it  is  because  the  new  Heaven 
forms.  You  are  here  as  the  carriers  of  the  power  of 
Nature,  —  as  Roger  Bacon,  with  his  secret  of  gun 
powder,  with  his  secret  of  the  balloon  and  of  steam  ;  as 
Copernicus,  with  his  secret  of  the  true  astronomy ;  as 
Columbus,  with  America  in  his  log-book  ;  as  Newton, 
with  his  gravity  ;  Harvey,  with  his  circulation  ;  Smith, 
with  his  law  of  trade  ;  Franklin,  with  lightning ;  Adams, 
with  Independence  ;  Kant,  with  pure  reason  ;  Sweden- 
borg,  with  his  spiritual  world.  You  are  the  carriers  of 
ideas  which  are  to  fashion  the  mind  and  so  the  history 
of  this  breathing  world,  so  as  they  shall  be,  and  not 
otherwise. 

Every  man  is  a  scholar  potentially,  and  does  not  need 
any  one  good  so  much  as  this  of  right  thought. 

"Calm  pleasures  here  abide,  majestic  pains." 

Coleridge  traces  "  three  silent  revolutions,"  of  which 


THE   MAN   OF   LETTERS.  195 

the  first  was  "  when  the  clergy  fell  from  the  Church." 
A  scholar  was  once  a  priest.  But  the  Church  clung  to 
ritual,  and  the  scholar  clung  to  joy,  low  as  well  as  high, 
and  thus  the  separation  was  a  mutual  fault.  But  I 
think  it  is  a  schism  which  must  be  healed.  The  true 
scholar  is  the  Church.  Only  the  duties  of  Intellect 
must  be  owned.  Down  with  these  dapper  trimmers 
and  sycophants  !  let  us  have  masculine  and  divine  men, 
formidable  lawgivers,  Pythagoras,  Plato,  Aristotle,  who 
warp  the  churches  of  the  world  from  their  traditions, 
and  penetrate  them  through  and  through  with  original 
perception.  The  intellectual  man  lives  in  perpetual 
victory.  As  certainly  as  water  falls  in  rain  on  the  tops 
of  mountains  and  runs  down  into  valleys,  plains  and 
pits,  so  does  thought  fall  first  on  the  best  minds,  and 
run  down,  from  class  to  class,  until  it  reaches  the 
masses,  and  works  revolutions. 

Nature  says  to  the  American  :  "  I  understand  men 
suration  and  numbers  ;  I  compute  the  ellipse  of  the 
moon,  the  ebb  and  flow  of  waters,  the  curve  and  the 
errors  of  planets,  the  balance  of  attraction  and  recoil. 
I  have  measured  out  to  you  by  weight  and  tally  the 
powers  you  need.  I  give  you  the  land  and  sea,  the 
forest  and  the  mine,  the  elemental  forces,  nervous 
energy.  When  I  add  difficulty,  I  add  brain.  See  to  it 
that  you  hold  and  administer  the  continent  for  mankind. 
One  thing  you  have  rightly  done.  You  have  offered  a 
patch  of  land  in  the  wilderness  to  every  son  of  Adam 
who  will  till  it.  Other  things  you  have  begun  to  do,  — 
to  strike  off  the  chains  whicli  snuffling  hypocrites  had 
bound  on  the  weaker  race.  You  are  to  imperil  your 
lives  and  fortunes  for  a  principle.  The  ambassador  is 
held  to  maintain  the  dignity  of  the  Republic  which  he 


196  THE   MAN   OF   LETTERS. 

represents.  But  what  does  the  scholar  represent  ? 
The  organ  of  ideas,  the  subtle  force  which  creates  Na 
ture  and  men  and  states  ;  —  consoler,  upholder,  impart 
ing  pulses  of  light  and  shocks  of  electricity,  guidance 
and  courage.  So  let  his  habits  be  formed,  and  all  his 
economies  heroic  ;  no  spoiled  child,  no  drone,  no  epicure, 
but  a  stoic,  formidable,  athletic,  knowing  how  to  be 
poor,  loving  labor,  and  not  flogging  his  youthful  wit 
with  tobacco  and  wine;  treasuring  his  youth.  I  wish 
the  youth  to  be  an  armed  and  complete  man  ;  no  help 
less  angel  to  be  slapped  in  the  face,  but  a  man  dipped 
in  the  Styx  of  human  experience,  and  made  invulner 
able  so,  —  self-helping.  A  redeeming  trait  of  the  Soph 
ists  of  Athens,  Hippias  and  Gorgias,  is  that  they  made 
their  own  clothes  and  shoes.  Learn  to  harness  a  horse, 
to  row  a  boat,  to  camp  down  in  the  woods,  to  cook  your 
supper.  I  chanced  lately  to  be  at  West  Point,  and, 
after  attending  the  examination  in  scientific  classes,  I 
went  into  the  barracks.  The  chamber  was  in  perfect 
order ;  the  mattress  on  the  iron  camp-bed  rolled  up,  as 
if  ready  for  removal.  I  asked  the  first  Cadet,  "  Who 
makes  your  bed  ? "  "I  do."  "Who  fetches  your  wa 
ter  ?  "  "I  do."  "  Who  blacks  your  shoes  ?  "  "I  do." 
It  was  so  in  every  room.  These  are  first  steps  to  power. 
Learn  of  Samuel  Johnson  or  David  Hume,  that  it  is  a 
primary  duty  of  the  man  of  letters  to  secure  his  inde 
pendence. 

Stand  by  your  order.  'T  is  some  thirty  years  since 
the  days  of  the  Reform  Bill  in  England,  when  on  the 
walls  in  London  you  read  everywhere  placards,  "  Down 
with  the  Lords."  At  that  time,  Earl  Grey,  who  was 
leader  of  Reform,  was  asked,  in  Parliament,  his  policy 
on  the  measures  of  the  Radicals.  He  replied,  "  I  shall 


THE    MAN   OF    LETTERS.  197 

stand  by  my  order."  Where  there  is  no  vision,  the  peo 
ple  perish.  The  fault  lies  with  the  educated  class,  the 
men  of  study  and  thought.  There  is  a  very  low  feeling 
of  duty  :  the  merchant  is  true  to  the  merchant,  the  noble 
in  England  and  Europe  stands  by  his  order,  the  poli 
tician  believes  in  his  arts  and  combinations;  but  the 
scholar  does  not  stand  by  his  order,  but  defers  to  the 
men  of  this  world. 

Gentlemen,  I  am  here  to  commend  to  you  your  art 
and  profession  as  thinkers.  It  is  real.  It  is  the  secret 
of  power.  It  is  the  art  of  command.  All  superiority 
is  this,  or  related  to  this.  "  All  that  the  world  admires 
comes  from  within."  Thought  makes  us  men  ;  ranks 
us  ;  distributes  society ;  distributes  the  work  of  the 
world  ;  is  the  prolific  source  of  all  arts,  of  all  wealth,  of 
all  delight,  of  all  grandeur.  Men  are  as  they  believe. 
Men  are  as  they  think,  and  the  man  who  knows  any 
truth  not  yet  discerned  by  other  men,  is  master  of  all 
other  men  so  far  as  that  truth  and  its  wide  relations  are 
concerned. 

Intellect  measures  itself  by  its  counteraction  to  any 
accumulation  of  material  force.  There  is  no  mass  which 
it  cannot  surmount  and  dispose  of.  The  exertions  of 
this  force  are  the  eminent  experiences,  —  out  of  a  long 
life  all  that  is  worth  remembering.  These  are  the  mo 
ments  that  balance  years.  Does  any  one  doubt  between 
the  strength  of  a  thought  and  that  of  an  institution  ? 
Does  any  one  doubt  that  a  good  general  is  better  than  a 
park  of  artillery  ?  See  a  political  revolution  dogging 
a  book.  See  armies,  institutions,  literatures,  appearing 
in  the  train  of  some  wild  Arabian's  dream. 

There  is  a  proverb  that  Napoleon,  when  the  Mame 
luke  cavalry  approached  the  French  lines,  ordered  the 


198  THE   MAN   OF   LETTERS. 

grenadiers  to  the  front,  and  the  asses  and  the  savans 
to  fall  into  the  hollow  square.  It  made  a  good  story, 
and  circulated  in  that  day.  But  how  stands  it  now  ? 
The  military  expedition  was  a  failure.  Bonaparte  him 
self  deserted,  and  the  army  got  home  as  it  could,  all 
fruitless  ;  not  a  trace  of  it  remains.  All  that  is  left  of 
it  is  the  researches  of  those  savans  on  the  antiquities  of 
Egypt,  including  the  great  work  of  Denon,  which  led 
the  way  to  all  the  subsequent  studies  of  the  English  and 
German  scholars  on  that  foundation.  Pytheas  of  .ZEgina 
was  victor  in  the  Pancratium  of  the  boys,  at  the  Isth 
mian  games.  He  came  to  the  poet  Pindar  and  wished 
him  to  write  an  ode  in  his  praise,  and  inquired  what 
was  the  price  of  a  poem.  Pindar  replied  that  he  should 
give  him  one  talent,  about  a  thousand  dollars  of  our 
money.  "  A  talent !  "  cried  Pytheas  ;  "  why,  for  so  much 
money  I  can  erect  a  statue  of  bronze  in  the  temple." 
"  Very  likely."  On  second  thoughts,  he  returned  and 
paid  for  the  poem.  And  now  not  only  all  the  statues 
of  bronze  in  the  temples  of  -ZEgina  are  destroyed,  but 
the  temples  themselves,  and  the  very  walls  of  the  city 
are  utterly  gone,  whilst  the  ode  of  Pindar,  in  praise  of 
Pytheas,  remains  entire. 

The  treachery  of  scholars  !  They  are  idealists,  and 
should  stand  for  freedom,  justice  and  public  good. 
The  scholar  is  bound  to  stand  for  all  the  virtues  and  all 
the  liberties,  —  liberty  of  trade,  liberty  of  the  press, 
liberty  of  religion,  —  and  he  should  open  all  the  prizes 
of  success  and  all  the  roads  of  Nature  to  free  competi 
tion. 

The  country  complains  loudly  of  the  inefficiency  of 
the  army.  It  was  badly  led.  But,  before  this,  it  was 
not  the  army  alone,  it  was  the  population  that  was  badly 


THE   MAN   OF   LETTERS.  199 

led.  The  clerisy,  the  spiritual  guides,  the  scholars,  the 
seers  have  been  false  to  their  trust. 

Rely  on  yourself.  There  is  respect  due  to  your  teach 
ers,  but  every  age  is  new,  and  has  problems  to  solve,  in 
soluble  by  the  last  age.  Men  over  forty  are  no  judges  of 
a  book  written  in  a  new  spirit.  Neither  your  teachers, 
nor  the  universal  teachers,  the  laws,  the  customs  or  dog 
mas  of  nations,  neither  saint  nor  sage,  can  compare  with 
that  counsel  which  is  open  to  you.  No,  it  is  not  na 
tions,  no,  nor  even  masters,  not  at  last  a  few  individuals 
or  any  heroes,  but  himself  only,  the  large  equality  to 
truth  of  a  single  mind,  —  as  if,  in  the  narrow  walls  of 
a  human  heart,  the  wide  realm  of  truth,  the  world  of 
morals,  the  tribunal  by  which  the  universe  is  judged, 
found  room  to  exist. 

Our  people  have  this  levity  and  complaisance,  —  they 
fear  to  offend,  do  not  wish  to  be  misunderstood  ;  do  not 
wish,  of  all  things,  to  be  in  the  minority.  God  and  Na 
ture  are  altogether  sincere,  and  Art  should  be  as  sin 
cere.  It  is  not  enough  that  the  work  should  show  a 
skilful  hand,  ingenious  contrivance  and  admirable  polish 
and  finish  ;  it  should  have  a  commanding  motive  in  the 
time  and  condition  in  which  it  was  made.  We  should 
see  in  it  the  great  belief  of  the  artist,  which  caused  him 
to  make  it  so  as  he  did,  and  not  otherwise  ;  nothing 
frivolous,  nothing  that  he  might  do  or  not  do,  as  he 
chose,  but  somewhat  that  must  be  done  then  and  there 
by  him ;  he  could  not  take  his  neck  out  of  that  yoke, 
and  save  his  soul.  And  this  design  must  shine  through 
the  whole  performance.  Sincerity  is,  in  dangerous  times, 
discovered  to  be  an  immeasurable  advantage.  I  dis 
trust  all  the  legends  of  great  accomplishments  or  per 
formance  of  unprincipled  men.  Very  little  reliance 


200  THE   MAN    OF   LETTERS. 

must  be  put  on  the  common  stories  that  circulate  of  this 
great  senator's  or  that  great  barrister's  learning,  their 
Greek,  their  varied  literature.  That  ice  won't  bear. 
Reading  !  —  do  you  mean  that  this  senator  or  this  law 
yer,  who  stood  by  and  allowed  the  passage  of  infamous 
laws,  was  a  reader  of  Greek  books  ?  That  is  not  the 
question  ;  but  to  what  purpose  did  they  read  ?  I  allow 
them  the  merit  of  that  reading  which  appears  in  their 
opinions,  tastes,  beliefs  and  practice.  They  read  that 
they  might  know,  did  they  not  ?  Well,  these  men  did 
not  know.  They  blundered ;  they  were  utterly  igno 
rant  of  that  which  every  boy  or  girl  of  fifteen  knows 
perfectly,  —  the  rights  of  men  and  women.  And  this 
big-mouthed  talker,  among  his  dictionaries  and  Leipsic 
editions  of  Lysias,  had  lost  his  knowledge.  But  the 
President  of  the  Bank  nods  to  the  President  of  the  In 
surance  Office,  and  relates  that  at  Virginia  Springs  this 
idol  of  the  forum  exhausted  a  trunkf nl  of  classic  authors. 
There  is  always  the  previous  question,  How  came  you 
on  that  side  ?  You  are  a  very  elegant  writer,  but  you 
can't  write  up  what  gravitates  down. 

It  is  impossible  to  extricate  one's  self  from  the  ques 
tions  in  which  our  age  is  involved.  All  of  us  have 
shared  the  new  enthusiasm  of  country  and  of  liberty 
which  swept  like  a  whirlwind  through  all  souls  at  the 
outbreak  of  war,  and  brought,  by  ennobling  us,  an  off 
set  for  its  calamity. 

War,  seeking  for  the  roots  of  strength,  comes  upon 
the  moral  aspects  at  once.  In  quiet  times,  custom  sti 
fles  this  discussion  as  sentimental,  and  brings  in  the 
brazen  devil,  as  by  immemorial  right.  The  war  uplifted 
us  into  generous  sentiments.  War  ennobles  the  age.  We 
do  not  often  have  a  moment  of  grandeur  in  these  hur- 


THE    MAN   OF   LETTERS.  201 

ried,  slipshod  lives,  but  the  behavior  of  the  young  men 
has  taught  us  much.  We  will  not  again  disparage 
America,  now  that  we  have  seen  what  men  it  will  bear. 
Battle,  with  the  sword,  has  cut  many  a  Gordian  knot  in 
twain  which  all  the  wit  of  East  and  West,  of  Northern 
and  Border  statesmen  could  not  untie. 

I  learn  with  joy  and  with  deep  respect  that  this  col 
lege  has  sent  its  full  quota  to  the  field.  I  learn  with 
grief,  but  with  honoring  pain,  that  you  have  had  your 
sufferers  in  the  battle,  and  that  the  noble  youth  have 
returned  wounded  and  maimed.  The  times  are  dark, 
but  heroic.  The  times  develop  the  strength  they  need. 
Boys  are  heroes.  Women  have  shown  a  tender  patriot 
ism  and  inexhaustible  charity.  And  on  each  new  threat 
of  faction,  the  ballot  of  the  people  has  been  unexpect 
edly  right.  But  the  issues  already  appearing  overpay 
the  cost.  Slavery  is  broken,  and,  if  we  use  our  advan 
tage,  irretrievably.  For  such  a  gain,  to  end  once  for 
all  that  pest  of  all  our  free  institutions,  one  generation 
might  well  be  sacrificed  ;  perhaps  it  will  ;  that  this  con 
tinent  be  purged  and  a  new  era  of  equal  rights  dawn  on 
the  universe.  Who  would  not,  if  it  could  be  made  cer 
tain  that  the  new  morning  of  universal  liberty  should 
rise  on  our  race  by  the  perishing  of  one  generation,  — 
who  would  not  consent  to  die  ? 


THE   SCHOLAR. 


FOR  thought,  and  not  praise, 

Thought  is  the  wages 
For  which  I  sell  days, 

Will  gladly  sell  ages 

And  willing  grow  old. 

Deaf  and  dumb,  blind  and  cold, 
Melting  matter  into  dreams, 

Panoramas  which  I  saw, 
And  whatever  glows  or  seems 

Into  substance,  into  Law. 


THE  sun  and  moon  shall  fall  amain 
Like  sowers'  seeds  into  his  brain, 
There  quickened  to  be  born  again. 


THE   SCHOLAR. 


AN  ORATION   DELIVERED   BEFORE  THE  WASHINGTON  AND  JEFFERSON  SOCIETIES 
AT  TUB  UNIVERSITY  OP  VIRGINIA,  28TH  JUNE,  1876. 


GENTLEMEN  : 

The  Athenians  took  an  oath,  on  a  certain  crisis  in 
their  affairs,  to  esteem  wheat,  the  vine  and  the  olive  the 
bounds  of  Attica.  The  territory  of  scholars  is  yet 
larger.  A  stranger  but  yesterday  to  every  person  pres 
ent,  I  find  myself  already  at  home,  for  the  society  of 
lettered  men  is  a  university  which  does  not  bound  it 
self  with  the  walls  of  one  cloister  or  college,  but  gath 
ers  in  the  distant  and  solitary  student  into  its  strictest 
amity.  Literary  men  gladly  acknowledge  these  ties 
which  find  for  the  homeless  and  the  stranger  a  welcome 
where  least  looked  for.  But  in  proportion  as  we  are 
conversant  with  the  laws  of  life,  we  have  seen  the  like. 
We  are  used  to  these  surprises.  This  is  but  one  oper 
ation  of  a  more  general  law.  As  in  coming  among 
strange  faces  we  find  that  the  love  of  letters  makes  us 
friends,  so  in  strange  thoughts,  in  the  worldly  habits 
which  harden  us,  we  find  with  some  surprise  that  learn 
ing  and  truth  and  beauty  have  not  let  us  go  ;  that  the 
spiritual  nature  is  too  strong  for  us  ;  that  those  excel 
lent  influences  which  men  in  all  ages  have  called  the 
Muse,  or  by  some  kindred  name,  come  in  to  keep  us 


206  THE   SCHOLAR. 

warm  and  true  ;  that  the  face  of  Nature  remains  irre 
sistibly  alluring.  We  have  strayed  from  the  territo 
rial  monuments  of  Attica,  but  here  still  are  wheat  and 
olives  and  the  vine. 

I  do  not  now  refer  to  that  intellectual  conscience  which 
forms  itself  in  tender  natures,  and  gives  us  many  twinges 
for  our  sloth  and  unf aithf  ulness :  —  the  influence  I  speak 
of  is  of  a  higher  strain.  Stung  by  this  intellectual  con 
science,  we  go  to  measure  our  tasks  as  scholars,  and  screw 
ourselves  up  to  energy  and  fidelity,  and  our  sadness  is 
suddenly  overshone  by  a  sympathy  of  blessing.  Beauty, 
the  inspirer,  the  cheerful  festal  principle,  the  leader  of 
gods  and  men.  which  draws  by  being  beautiful,  and  not 
by  considerations  of  advantage,  comes  in  and  puts  a 
new  face  on  the  world.  I  think  the  peculiar  office  of 
scholars  in  a  careful  and  gloomy  generation  is  to  be  (as 
the  poets  were  called  in  the  Middle  Ages)  Professors  of 
the  Joyous  Science,  detectors  and  delineators  of  oc 
cult  symmetries  and  unpublished  beauties  ;  heralds  of 
civility,  nobility,  learning  and  wisdom  ;  affirmers  of  the 
one  law,  yet  as  those  who  should  affirm  it  in  music  and 
dancing  ;  expressors  themselves  of  that  firm  and  cheer 
ful  temper,  infinitely  removed  from  sadness,  which 
reigns  through  the  kingdoms  of  chemistry,  vegetation, 
and  animal  life.  Every  natural  power  exhilarates  ;  a 
true  talent  delights  the  possessor  first.  A  celebrated 
musician  was  wont  to  say,  that  men  knew  not  how  much 
more  he  delighted  himself  with  his  playing  than  he  did 
others  ;  for  if  they  knew,  his  hearers  would  rather  de 
mand  of  him  than  give  him  a  reward.  The  scholar  is 
here  to  fill  others  with  love  and  courage  by  confirming 
their  trust  in  the  love  and  wisdom  which  are  at  the 
heart  of  all  things  ;  to  affirm  noble  sentiments  ;  to  hear 


.THE   SCHOLAR.  207 

them  wherever  spoken,  out  of  the  deeps  of  ages,  out  of 
the  obscurities  of  barbarous  life,  and  to  republish  them  : 

—  to  untune  nobody,  but   to  draw  all   men  after  the 
truth,  and  to  keep  men  spiritual  and  sweet. 

Language  can  hardly  exaggerate  the  beatitude  of  the 
intellect  flowing  into  the  faculties.  This  is  the  power 
that  makes  the  world  incarnated  in  man,  and  laying 
again  the  beams  of  heaven  and  earth,  setting  the  north 
and  the  south,  and  the  stars  in  their  places.  Intellect 
is  the  science  of  metes  and  bounds  ;  yet  it  sees  no  bound 
to  the  eternal  proceeding  of  law  forth  into  nature.  All 
the  sciences  are  only  new  applications  each  translatable 
into  the  other,  of  the  one  law  which  his  mind  is. 

This,  gentlemen,  is  the  topic  on  which  I  shall  speak, 

—  the  natural  and  permanent  function  of  the  Scholar, 
as  he  is  no  permissive  or  accidental  appearance,  but  an 
organic  agent  in  nature.     He  is  here  to  be  the  beholder 
of  the  real  ;  self-centred  amidst  the  superficial ;  here 
to  revere  the  dominion  of  a  serene  necessity  and  be  its 
pupil  and  apprentice  by  tracing  everything  home  to  a 
cause  ;  here  to  be  sobered,  not  by  the  cares  of  life,  as 
men  say,  no,  but  by  the  depth  of  his  draughts  of  the 
cup  of  immortality. 

One  is  tempted  to  affirm  the  office  and  attributes  of 
the  scholar  a  little  the  more  eagerly,  because  of  a  fre 
quent  perversity  of  the  class  itself.  Men  are  ashamed 
of  their  intellect.  The  men  committed  by  profession  as 
well  as  by  bias  to  study,  the  clergyman,  the  chemist,  the 
astronomer,  the  metaphysician,  the  poet,  talk  hard  and 
worldly,  and  share  the  infatuation  of  cities.  The  poet 
and  the  citizen  perfectly  agree  in  conversation  on  the 
wise  life.  The  poet  counsels  his  own  son  as  if  he  were 
a  inerciiant.  The  poet  with  poets  be  troys  no  amiable 


208  THE   SCHOLAR. 

weakness.  They  all  chime  in,  and  are  as  inexorable  as 
bankers  on  the  subject  of  real  life.  They  have  no  toler 
ation  for  literature  ;  art  is  only  a  fine  word  for  appear 
ance  in  default  of  matter.  And  they  sit  white  over 
their  stoves,  and  talk  themselves  hoarse  over  the  mis 
chief  of  books  and  the  effeminacy  of  book-makers.  But 
at  a  single  strain  of  a  bugle  out  of  a  grove,  or  at  the 
dashing  among  the  stones  of  a  brook  from  the  hills  ;  at 
the  sound  of  some  subtle  word  that  falls  from  the  lips 
of  an  imaginative  person,  or  even  at  the  reading  in  soli 
tude  of  some  moving  image  of  a  wise  poet,  this  grave 
conclusion  is  blown  out  of  memory  ;  the  sun  shines,  and 
the  worlds  roll  to  music,  and  the  poet  replaces  all  this 
cowardly  Self-denial  and  God-denial  of  the  literary  class 
with  the  conviction  that  to  one  poetic  success  the  world 
will  surrender  on  its  knees.  Instantly  he  casts  in  his 
lot  with  the  pearl  -  diver  and  the  diamond  -  merchant. 
Like  them  he  will  joyfully  lose  days  and  months,  and 
estates  and  credit,  in  the  profound  hope  that  one  restor 
ing,  all-rewarding,  immense  success  will  arrive  at  last, 
which  will  give  him  at  one  bound  a  universal  dominion. 
And  rightly  ;  for  if  his  wild  prayers  are  granted,  if  he 
is  to  succeed,  his  achievement  is  the  piercing  of  the  brass 
heavens  of  use  and  limitation,  and  letting  in  a  beam  of 
the  pure  eternity  which  burns  up  this  limbo  of  shadows 
and  chimeras  in  which  we  dwell.  Yes,  Nature  is  too 
strong  for  us  ;  she  will  not  be  denied  ;  she  has  balsams 
for  our  hurts,  and  hellebores  for  our  insanities.  She 
does  not  bandy  words  with  us,  but  comes  in  with  a  new 
ravishing  experience  and  makes  the  old  time  ridiculous. 
Every  poet  knows  the  unspeakable  hope,  and  represents 
its  audacity. 

I  am  not  disposed  to  magnify  temporary  differences, 


THE   SCHOLAR.  209 

but  for  the  moment  it  appears  as  if  in  former  times 
learning  and  intellectual  accomplishments  had  secured 
to  the  possessor  greater  rank  and  authority.  If  this 
were  only  the  reaction  from  excessive  expectations  from 
literature,  now  disappointed,  it  were  a  just  censure.  It 
was  superstitious  to  exact  too  much  from  philosophers 
and  the  literary  class.  The  Sophists,  the  Alexandrian 
grammarians,  the  wits  of  Queen  Anne,  the  philoso 
phers  and  diffusion-societies  have  not  much  helped  us. 
Granted,  freely  granted.  Men  run  out  of  one  supersti 
tion  into  an  opposite  superstition,  and  practical  people 
in  America  give  themselves  wonderful  airs.  The  cant 
of  the  time  inquires  superciliously  after  the  new  ideas  ; 
it  believes  that  ideas  do  not  lead  to  the  owning  of  stocks ; 
they  are  perplexing  and  effeminating. 

Young  men,  I  warn  you  against  the  clamors  of  these 
self-praising  frivolous  activities,  —  against  these  busy- 
bodies  ;  against  irrational  labor  ;  against  chattering, 
meddlesome,  rich  and  official  people.  If  their  doing 
came  to  any  good  end!  Action  is  legitimate  and  good  ; 
forever  be  it  honored  !  right,  original,  private,  necessary 
action,  proceeding  new  from  the  heart  of  man,  and  go 
ing  forth  to  beneficent  and  as  yet  incalculable  ends. 
Yes  ;  but  not  a  petty  fingering  and  running,  a  senseless 
repeating  of  yesterday's  fingering  and  running  ;  an  ac 
ceptance  of  the  method  and  frauds  of  other  men  ;  an 
overdoing  and  busy-ness  which  pretends  to  the  honors 
of  action,  but  resembles  the  twitches  of  St.  Vitus.  The 
action  of  these  men  I  cannot  respect,  for  they  do  not  re 
spect  it  themselves.  They  were  better  and  more  re 
spectable  abed  and  asleep.  All  the  best  of  this  class, 
all  who  have  any  insight  or  generosity  of  spirit,  are  fre 
quently  disgusted,  and  fain  to  put  it  behind  them. 
14 


210  THE   SCHOLAR. 

Gentlemen,  I  do  not  wish  to  check  your  impulses  to 
action  :  I  would  not  hinder  you  of  one  swing  of  your 
arm.  I  do  not  wish  to  see  you  effeminate  gownsmen, 
taking  hold  of  the  world  with  the  tips  of  your  fingers, 
or  that  life  should  be  to  you  as  it  is  to  many,  optical, 
not  practical.  Far  otherwise  :  I  rather  wish  you  to 
experiment  boldly  and  give  play  to  your  energies,  but 
not,  if  I  could  prevail  with  you,  in  conventional  ways. 
I  should  wish  your  energy  to  run  in  works  and  emer 
gencies  growing  out  of  your  personal  character.  Na 
ture  will  fast  enough  instruct  you  in  the  occasion  and 
the  need,  and  will  bring  to  each  of  you  the  crowded 
hour,  the  great  opportunity.  Love,  Rectitude,  ever 
lasting  Fame,  will  come  to  each  of  you  in  loneliest 
places  with  their  grand  alternatives,  and  Honor  watches 
to  see  whether  you  dare  seize  the  palms. 

I  have  no  quarrel  with  action,  only  I  prefer  no  action 
to  misaction,  and  I  reject  the  abusive  application  of  the 
term  practical  to  those  lower  activities.  Let  us  hear 
no  more  of  the  practical  men,  or  I  will  tell  you  some 
thing  of  th 3m,  —  tlu's,  namely,  that  the  scholar  finds  in 
them  unlooked-for  acceptance  of  his  most  paradoxical 
experience.  There  is  confession  in  their  eyes,  and  if 
they  parade  their  business  and  public  importance,  it  is 
by  way  of  apology  and  palliation  for  not  being  the  stu 
dents  and  obeyers  o£  those  diviner  laws.  Talk  frankly 
with  them  and  you  learn  that  you  have  little  to  tell 
them  ;  that  the  Spirit  of  the  Age  has  been  before  you 
with  influences  impossible  to  parry  or  resist.  The  dry- 
goods  men  and  the  brokers,  the  lawyers  and  the  manu 
facturers  are  idealists,  and  only  differ  from  the  philos 
opher  in  the  intensity  of  the  charge.  We  are  all  con 
temporaries  and  bones  of  one  body. 


THE   SCHOLAR.  211 

The  shallow  clamor  against  theoretic  men  comes 
from  the  weak.  Able  men  may  sometimes  affect  a 
contempt  for  thought,  which  no  able  man  ever  feels. 
For  what  alone  in  the  history  of  this  world  interests  all 
men  in  proportion  as  they  are  men  ?  What  but  truth, 
and  perpetual  advance  in  knowledge  of  it,  and  brave 
obedience  to  it  in  right  action  ?  Every  man  or  woman 
who  can  voluntarily  or  involuntarily  give  them  any  in 
sight  or  suggestion  on  these  secrets  they  will  hearken 
after.  The  poet  writes  his  verse  on  a  scrap  of  paper, 
and  instantly  the  desire  and  love  of  all  mankind  take 
charge  of  it,  as  if  it  were  Holy  Writ.  What  need  has 
he  to  cross  the  sill  of  his  door  ?  Why  need  he  meddle 
with  politics  ?  His  idlest  thought,  his  yesternight's 
dream  is  told  already  in  the  Senate.  What  the  Genius 
whispered  him  at  night  he  reported  to  the  young  men 
at  dawn.  He  rides  in  them,  he  traverses  sea  and  land. 
The  engineer  in  the  locomotive  is  waiting  for  him  ;  the 
steamboat  is  hissing  at  the  wharf,  and  the  wheels  whirl 
ing  to  go.  'T  is  wonderful,  't  is  almost  scandalous,  this 
extraordinary  favoritism  shown  to  poets.  I  do  not  mean 
to  excuse  it.  I  admit  the  enormous  partiality.  It  only 
shows  that  such  is  the  gulf  between  our  perception  and 
our  painting,  the  eye  is  so  wise,  and  the  hand  so  clumsy, 
that  all  the  human  race  have  agreed  to  value  a  man  ac 
cording  to  his  power  of  expression.  For  him  arms,  art, 
politics,  trade  waited  like  menials,  until  the  lord  of  the 
manor  should  arrive.  Even  the  demonstrations  of  na 
ture  for  millenniums  seem  not  to  have  attained  their 
end,  until  this  interpreter  arrives.  "  I,"  said  the  great 
hearted  Kepler,  "  may  well  wait  a  hundred  years  for  a 
reader,  since  God  Almighty  has  waited  six  thousand 
years  for  an  observer  like  myself." 


212  THE   SCHOLAR. 

Genius  is  a  poor  man  and  has  no  house,  but  see.  this 
proud  landlord  who  has  built  the  palace  and  furnished 
it  so  delicately,  opens  it  to  him  and  beseeches  him  to 
make  it  honorable  by  entering  there  and  eating  bread. 
Where  is  the  palace  in  England  whose  tenants  are  not 
too  happy  if  it  can  make  a  home  for  Pope  or  Addison 
or  Swift  or  Burke  or  Canning  or  Tennyson  ?  Or  if 
wealth  has  humors  and  wishes  to  shake  off  the  yoke  and 
assert  itself,  —  oh,  by  all  means  let  it  try  !  Will  it 
build  its  fences  very  high,  and  make  its  Almacks  too 
narrow  for  a  wise  man  to  enter  ?  Will  it  be  independ 
ent  ?  I  incline  to  concede  the  isolation  which  it  asks, 
that  it  may  learn  that  it  is  not  independent  but  para 
sitical. 

There  could  always  be  traced,  in  the  most  barbarous 
tribes,  and  also  in  the  most  character-destroying  civil 
ization,  some  vestiges  of  a  faith  iu  genius,  as  in  the  ex 
emption  of  a  priesthood  or  bards  or  artists  from  taxes 
and  tolls  levied  on  other  men  ;  or  in  civic  distinction  ; 
or  in  enthusiastic  homage  ;  or  in  hospitalities  ;  as  if 
men  would  signify  their  sense  that  genius  and  virtue 
should  not  pay  money  for  house  and  land  and  bread, 
because  they  have  a  royal  right  in  these  and  in  all 
things,  —  a  first  mortgage  that  takes  effect  before 
the  right  of  the  present  proprietor.  For  they  are  the 
First  Good,  of  which  Plato  affirms  that  "  all  things 
are  for  its  sake,  and  it  is  the  cause  of  everything  beau 
tiful." 

This  reverence  is  the  re-establishment  of  natural  or* 
der  ;  for  as  the  solidest  rocks  are  made  up  of  invisible 
gases,  as  the  world  is  made  of  thickened  light  and  ar 
rested  electricity,  so  men  know  that  ideas  are  the  pa 
rents  of  men  and  things  ;  there  was  never  anything 


THE    SCHOLAR.  21 S 

that  did  not  proceed  from  a  thought.  The  scholar  has 
a  deep  ideal  interest  in  the  moving  show  around  him. 
He  knew  the  motley  system  in  its  egg.  We  have  — 
have  we  not  ?  —  a  real  relation  to  markets  and  brokers 
and  currency  and  coin.  "  Gold  and  silver,"  says  one 
of  the  Platonists,  "  grow  in  the  earth  from  the  celestial 
gods,  —  an  effluxion  from  them."  The  unmentionable 
dollar  itself  has  at  last  a  high  origin  in  moral  and  meta 
physical  nature.  Union  Pacific  stock  is  not  quite  pri 
vate  property,  but  the  quality  and  essence  of  the  universe 
is  in  that  also.  Have  we  less  interest  in  ships  or  ill 
shops,  in  manual  work  or  in  household  affairs  ;  in  any 
object  of  nature  or  in  any  handiwork  of  man  ;  iu  any 
relation  of  life  or  custom  of  society  ?  The  scholar  is  to 
show,  in  each,  identity  and  connection  ;  he  is  to  show  its 
origin  in  the  brain  of  man,  and  its  secret  history  and 
issues.  He  is  the  attorney  of  the  world,  and  can  never 
be  superfluous  where  so  vast  a  variety  of  questions  are 
ever  coming  up  to  be  solved,  and  for  ages. 

I  proceed  to  say  that  the  allusions  just  now  made  to 
the  extent  of  his  duties,  the  manner  in  which  every 
day's  events  will  find  him  in  work,  may  show  that  his 
place  is  no  sinecure.  The  scholar,  when  he  comes,  will 
be  known  by  an  energy  that  will  animate  all  who  see 
him.  The  labor  of  ambition  and  avarice  will  appear 
fumbling  beside  his.  In  the  right  hands,  literature  is 
not  resorted  to  as  a  consolation,  and  by  the  broken  and 
decayed,  but  as  a  decalogue.  In  this  country  we  are 
fond  of  results  and  of  short  ways  to  them  ;  and  most  in 
this  department.  In  our  experiences,  learning  is  not 
learned,  nor  is  genius  wise.  The  name  of  the  Scholar 
is  taken  in  vain.  We  who  should  be  the  channel  of 
that  unweariable  Power  which  never  sleeps,  must  give 


214  THE   SCHOLAR. 

our  diligence  no  holidays.  Other  men  are  planting  and 
building,  baking  and  tanning,  running  and  sailing,  heav 
ing  and  carrying,  each  that  he  may  peacefully  execute 
the  fine  function  by  which  they  all  are  helped.  Shall 
he  play,  whilst  their  eyes  follow  him  from  far  with 
reverence,  attributing  to  him  the  delving  in  great  fields 
of  thought,  and  conversing  with  supernatural  allies  ? 
If  he  is  not  kindling  his  torch  or  collecting  oil,  he  will 
fear  to  go  by  a  workshop  ;  he  will  not  dare  to  hear  the 
music  of  a  saw  or  plane  ;  the  steam-engine  will  rep 
rimand,  the  steam  -  pipe  will  hiss  at  him  ;  he  cannot 
look  a  blacksmith  in  the  eye  ;  in  the  field  he  will  be 
shamed  by  mowers  and  reapers.  The  speculative  man, 
the  scholar,  is  the  right  hero.  He  is  brave,  because  he 
sees  the  omnipotence  of  that  which  inspires  lu'm.  Is 
there  only  one  courage  and  one  warfare  ?  I  cannot 
manage  sword  and  rifle  ;  can  I  not  therefore  be  brave  ? 
I  thought  there  were  as  many  courages  as  men.  Is  an 
armed  man  the  only  hero  ?  Is  a  man  only  the  breech 
of  a  gun  or  the  haft  of  a  bowie-knife  ?  Men  of  thought 
fail  in  fighting  down  malignity,  because  they  wear 
other  armor  than  their  own.  Let  them  decline  hence 
forward  foreign  methods  and  foreign  courages.  Let 
them  do  that  which  they  can  do.  Let  them  fight  by 
their  strength,  not  by  their  weakness.  It  seems  to  me 
that  the  thoughtful  man  needs  no  armor  but  this — • 
concentration.  One  thing  is  for  him  settled,  that  he  is 
to  come  at  his  ends.  He  is  not  there  to  defend  himself, 
but  to  deliver  his  message  ;  if  his  voice  is  clear,  then 
clearly  ;  if  husky,  than  huskily  ;  if  broken,  he  can  at 
least  scream  ;  gag  him,  he  can  still  write  it  ;  bruise, 
mutilate  him,  cut  off  his  hands  and  feet,  he  can  still 
crawl  towards  his  object  ou  his  stumps.  It  is  the  cor« 


THE   SCHOLAR.  215 

tnption  of  our  generation  that  men  value  a  long  life, 
and  do  not  esteem  life  simply  as  a  means  of  expressing 
a  sentiment. 

The  great  English  patriot  Algernon  Sidney  wrote  to 
his  father  from  his  prison  a  little  before  his  execution  : 
"  I  have  ever  had  in  my  mind  that  when  God  should 
cast  me  into  such  a  condition  as  that  I  cannot  save  my 
life  but  by  doing  an  indecent  thing,  he  shows  me  the 
time  has  come  when  I  should  resign  it."  Beauty  be 
longs  to  the  sentiment,  and  is  always  departing  from 
those  who  depart  out  of  that.  The  hero  rises  out  of  all 
comparison  with  contemporaries  and  with  ages  of  men, 
because  he  disesteems  old  age,  and  lands,  and  money, 
and  power,  and  will  oppose  all  mankind  at  the  call  of 
that  private  and  perfect  Right  and  Beauty  in  which  he 
lives. 

Man  is  a  torch  borne  in  the  wind.  The  ends  I  have 
hinted  at  made  the  scholar  or  spiritual  man  indispen 
sable  to  the  Republic  or  Commonwealth  of  Man.  Na 
ture  could  not  leave  herself  without  a  seer  and  ex 
pounder.  But  he  could  not  see  or  teach  without  organs. 
The  same  necessity  then  that  would  create  him  reap 
pears  in  his  splendid  gifts.  There  is  no  power  in  the 
mind  but  in  turn  becomes  an  instrument.  The  descent 
of  genius  into  talents  is  part  of  the  natural  order  and 
history  of  the  world.  The  incarnation  must  be.  We 
cannot  eat  the  granite  nor  drink  hydrogen.  They  must 
be  decompounded  and  recompounded  into  corn  and  water 
before  they  can  enter  our  flesh.  There  is  a  great  deal 
of  spiritual  energy  in  the  universe,  but  it  is  not  palpa 
ble  to  us  until  we  can  make  it  up  into  man.  There  is 
plenty  of  air,  but  it  is  worth  nothing  until  by  gathering 
it  into  sails  we  can  get  it  into  shape  and  service  to  carry 


216  THE   SCHOLAR. 

as  and  our  cargo  across  the  sea.  Then  it  is  paid  for 
by  hundreds  of  thousands  of  our  money.  Plenty  of 
water  also,  sea  full,  sky  full  ;  who  cares  for  it  ?  But 
when  we  can  get  it  where  we  want  it,  and  in  measured 
portions,  on  a  mill-wheel,  or  boat-paddle,  we  will  buy 
it  with  millions.  There  is  plenty  of  wild  azote  and  car 
bon  unappropriated,  but  it  is  nought  till  we  have  made 
it  up  into  loaves  and  soup.  So  we  find  it  in  higher  rela 
tions.  There  is  plenty  of  wild  wrath,  but  it  steads  not 
until  we  can  get  it  racked  off,  shall  I  say  ?  and  bottled 
into  persons  ;  a  little  pure,  and  not  too  much,  to  every 
head.  How  many  young  geniuses  we  have  known,  and 
none  but  ourselves  will  ever  hear  of  them  for  want  in 
them  of  a  little  talent ! 

Ah,  gentlemen,  I  own  I  love  talents  and  accomplish 
ments  ;  the  feet  and  hands  of  genius.  As  Burke  said, 
"  it  is  not  only  our  duty  to  make  the  right  known,  but 
to  make  it  prevalent."  So  I  delight  to  see  the  God 
head  in  distribution  ;  to  see  men  that  can  come  at  their 
ends.  These  shrewd  faculties  belong  to  man.  I  love 
to  see  them  in  play,  and  to  see  them  trained  :  this  mem 
ory  carrying  in  its  caves  the  pictures  of  the  past,  and 
rendering  them  in  the  instant  when  they  can  serve  the 
possessor  ;  —  the  craft  of  mathematical  combination, 
which  carries  a  working-plan  of  the  heavens  and  of  the 
earth  in  a  formula.  I  am  apt  to  believe,  with  the  Em 
peror  Charles  V.,  that  "  as  many  languages  as  a  man 
knows,  so  many  times  is  he  a  man."  I  like  to  see  a 
man  of  that  virtue  that  no  obscurity  or  disguise  can  con 
ceal,  who  wins  all  souls  to  his  way  of  thinking.  I  de 
light  in  men  adorned  and  weaponed  with  manlike  arts, 
who  could  alone,  or  with  a  few  like  them,  reproduce 
Europe  and  America,  the  result  of  our  civilization. 


THE   SCHOLAR.  217 

It  is  excellent  when  the  individual  is  ripened  to  that 
degree  that  he  touches  both  the  centre  and  the  circum 
ference,  so  that  he  is  not  only  widely  intelligent,  but 
carries  a  counsel  in  his  breast  for  the  emergency  of  to 
day  ;  and  alternates  the  contemplation  of  the  fact  in 
pure  intellect,  with  the  total  conversion  of  the  intel 
lect  into  energy  ;  Jove,  and  the  thunderbolt  launched 
from  his  hand.  Perhaps  I  value  power  of  achievement 
a  little  more  because  in  America  there  seems  to  be  a 
certain  indigence  in  this  respect.  I  think  there  is  no 
more  intellectual  people  than  ours.  They  are  very  ap 
prehensive  and  curious.  But  there  is  a  sterility  of  tal 
ent.  These  iron  personalities,  such  as  in  Greece  and 
Italy  and  once  in  England  were  formed  to  strike  fear 
into  kings  and  draw  the  eager  service  of  thousands, 
rarely  appear.  We  have  general  intelligence,  but  no 
Cyclop  arms.  A  very  little  intellectual  force  makes  a 
disproportionately  great  impression,  and  when  one  ob 
serves  how  eagerly  our  people  entertain  and  discuss  a 
new  theory,  whether  home-born  or  imported,  and  how 
little  thought  operates  how  great  an  effect,  one  would 
draw  a  favorable  inference  as  to  their  intellectual  and 
spiritual  tendencies.  It  seems  as  if  two  or  three  per 
sons  coming  who  should  add  to  a  high  spiritual  aun 
great  constructive  energy,  would  carry  the  country  with 
them. 

In  making  this  claim  of  costly  accomplishments  for 
the  scholar,  I  chiefly  wish  to  infer  the  dignity  of  his 
work  by  the  lustre  of  his  appointments.  He  is  not 
cheaply  equipped.  The  universe  was  rifled  to  furnish 
him.  He  is  to  forge  out  of  coarsest  ores  the  sharpest 
weapons.  But  if  the  weapons  are  valued  for  them- 
telves,  if  his  talents  assume  an  independence,  and  come 


218  THE   SCHOLAR. 

to  work  for  ostentation,  they  cannot  serve  him.  It  was 
said  of  an  eminent  Frenchman,  that  "  he  was  drowned 
in  his  talents."  The  peril  of  every  fine  faculty  is  the 
delight  of  playing  with  it  for  pride.  Talent  is  com 
monly  developed  at  the  expense  of  character,  and  the 
greater  it  grows,  the  more  is  the  mischief  and  mislead 
ing  ;  so  that  presently  all  is  wrong,  talent  is  mistaken 
for  genius,  a  dogma  or  system  for  truth,  ambition  for 
greatness,  ingenuity  for  poetry,  sensuality  for  art  ;  and 
the  young,  coming  up  with  innocent  hope,  and  looking 
around  them  at  education,  at  the  professions  and  em 
ployments,  at  religious  and  literary  teachers  and  teach 
ing,  —  finding  that  nothing  outside  corresponds  to  the 
noble  order  in  the  soul,  are  confused,  and  become  skep 
tical  and  forlorn.  Hope  is  taken  from  youth  unless 
there  be,  by  the  grace  of  God,  sufficient  vigor  in  their 
instinct  to  say,  "  All  is  wrong  and  human  invention.  I 
declare  anew  from  Heaven  that  truth  exists  new  and 
beautiful  and  profitable  forevermore."  Order  is  heav 
en's  first  law.  These  gifts,  these  senses,  these  facilities 
are  excellent  as  long  as  subordinated  ;  all  wasted  and 
mischievous  when  they  assume  to  lead  and  not  obey. 
What  is  the  use  of  strength  or  cunning  or  beauty,  or 
musical  voice,  or  birth,  or  breeding,  or  money,  to  a  ma 
niac  ?  Yet  society,  in  which  we  live,  is  subject  to  fits 
of  frenzy  ;  sometimes  is  for  an  age  together  a  maniac, 
with  birth,  breeding,  beauty,  cunning,  strength  and 
money.  And  there  is  but  one  defence  against  this 
principle  of  chaos,  and  that  is  the  principle  of  order,  01 
brave  return  at  all  hours  to  an  infinite  common-sense, 
to  the  mother-wit,  to  the  wise  instinct,  to  the  pure  in« 
tellect. 

When  a  man  begins  to  dedicate  himself  to  a  partic* 


THE   SCHOLAR.  219 

nlar  function,  as  his  logical,  or  his  remembering,  or  his 
oratorical,  or  his  arithmetical  skill ;  the  advance  of  his 
character  and  genius  pauses  ;  he  has  run  to  the  end  of 
his  line  ;  seal  the  book  ;  the  development  of  that  mind 
is  arrested.  The  scholar  is  lost  in  the  showman.  So 
ciety  is  babyish,  and  is  dazzled  and  deceived  by  the 
weapon,  without  inquiring  into  the  cause  for  which  it 
is  drawn  ;  like  boys  by  the  drums  and  colors  of  the 
troops. 

The  objection  of  men  of  the  world  to  what  they  call 
the  morbid  intellectual  tendency  in  our  young  men  at 
present,  is  not  a  hostility  to  their  truth,  but  to  this,  its 
shortcoming,  that  the  idealistic  views  unfit  their  chil 
dren  for  business  in  their  sense,  and  do  not  qualify  them 
for  any  complete  life  of  a  better  kind.  They  threaten 
the  validity  of  contracts,  but  do  not  prevail  so  far  as  to 
establish  the  new  kingdom  which  shall  supersede  con 
tracts,  oaths,  and  property.  "  We  have  seen  to  weari 
ness  what  you  cannot  do  ;  now  show  us  what  you  can 
and  will  do,"  asks  the  practical  man,  and  with  perfect 
reason. 

We  are  not  afraid  of  new  truth,  —  of  truth  never, 
new,  or  old,  —  no,  but  of  a  counterfeit.  Everybody 
hates  imbecility  and  shortcoming,  not  new  methods. 
The  astronomer  is  not  ridiculous  inasmuch  as  he  is  an 
astronomer,  but  inasmuch  as  he  is  not  an  astronomer. 
Be  that  you  are:  be  that  cheerly  and  sovereignly.  Plo- 
tinus  makes  no  apologies;  he  says  roundly,  "  the  knowl 
edge  of  the  senses  is  truly  ludicrous."  "  Body  and  its 
properties  belong  to  the  region  of  nonentity,  as  if  more 
of  body  was  necessarily  produced  where  a  defect  of 
being  happens  in  a  greater  degree."  "Matter,"  says 
Plutarch,  "  is  privation."  Let  the  man  of  ideas  at  this 


220  THE   SCHOLAR. 

hour  be  as  direct,  and  as  fully  committed.  Have  you  a 
thought  in  your  heart  ?  There  was  never  such  need  of 
it  as  now.  As  we  read  the  newspapers,  as  we  see  the 
effrontery  with  which  money  and  power  carry  their  ends 
and  ride  over  honesty  and  good-meaning,  patriotism  and 
religion  seem  to  shriek  like  ghosts.  We  will  not  speak 
for  them,  because  to  speak  for  them  seems  so  weak  and 
hopeless.  We  will  hold  fast  our  opinion  and  die  in 
silence.  But  a  true  orator  will  make  us  feel  that  the 
states  and  kingdoms,  the  senators,  lawyers  and  rich  men 
are  caterpillars'  webs  and  caterpillars,  when  seen  in  the 
light  of  this  despised  and  imbecile  truth.  Then  we  feel 
what  cowards  we  have  been.  Truth  alone  is  great. 
The  orator  too  becomes  a  fool  and  a  shadow  before  this 
light  which  lightens  through  him.  It  shines  backward 
and  forward,  diminishes  and  annihilates  everybody,  and 
the  prophet  so  gladly  feels  his  personality  lost  in  this 
victorious  life.  The  spiritual  nature  exhibits  itself  so 
in  its  counteraction  to  any  accumulation  of  material 
force.  There  is  no  mass  that  can  be  a  counterweight 
for  it.  This  makes  one  man  good  against  mankind. 
This  is  the  secret  of  eloquence,  for  it  is  the  end  of  elo 
quence  in  a  half-hour's  discourse,  —  perhaps  by  a  few 
sentences,  —  to  persuade  a  multitude  of  persons  to  re 
nounce  their  opinions,  and  change  the  course  of  life. 
They  go  forth  not  the  men  they  came  in,  but  shriven, 
convicted,  and  converted. 

We  have  many  revivals  of  religion.  We  have  had 
once  what  was  called  the  Revival  of  Letters.  I  wish  to 
see  a  revival  of  the  human  mind:  to  see  men's  sense  of 
duty  extend  to  the  cherishing  and  use  of  their  intel 
lectual  powers :  their  religion  should  go  with  their 
thought  and  hallow  it.  Whosoever  looks  with  heed 


THE  SCHOLAR.  221 

into  his  thoughts  will  find  that  our  science  of  the  mind 
has  not  got  far.  He  will  find  there  is  somebody  within 
him  that  knows  more  than  he  does,  a  certain  dumb  life 
hi  life  ;  a  simple  wisdom  behind  all  acquired  wisdom ; 
somewhat  not  educated  or  educable  ;  not  altered  or  al 
terable;  a  mother- wit  which  does  not  learn  by  experi 
ence  or  by  books,  but  knew  it  all  already;  makes  no 
progress,  but  was  wise  in  youth  as  in  age.  More  or  less 
clouded  it  yet  resides  the  same  in  all,  saying  Ay,  ay,  or 
No,  no  to  every  proposition.  Yet  its  grand  Ay  and  its 
grand  No  are  more  musical  than  all  eloquence.  No 
body  has  found  the  limit  of  its  knowledge.  Whatever 
object  is  brought  before  it  is  already  well  known  to  it. 
Its  justice  is  perfect;  its  look  is  catholic  and  universal, 
its  light  ubiquitous  like  the  sun.  It  does  not  put  forth 
organs,  it  rests  in  presence  :  yet  trusted  and  obeyed  in 
happy  natures  it  becomes  active  and  salient,  and  makes 
new  means  for  its  great  ends. 

The  scholar  then  is  unfurnished  who  has  only  literary 
weapons.  He  ought  to  have  as  many  talents  as  he  can; 
memory,  arithmetic,  practical  power,  manners,  temper, 
lion-heart,  are  all  good  things,  and  if  he  has  none  of 
them  he  can  still  manage,  if  he  have  the  main-mast,  — 
if  he  is  anything.  But  he  must  have  the  resource  of 
resources,  and  be  planted  on  necessity.  For  the  sure 
months  are  bringing  him  to  an  examination  -  day  in 
which  nothing  is  remitted  or  excused,  and  for  which  no 
tutor,  no  book,  no  lectures,  and  almost  no  preparation 
can  be  of  the  least  avail.  He  will  have  to  answer  cer 
tain  questions,  which,  I  must  plainly  tell  you,  cannot 
be  staved  off.  For  all  men,  all  women,  Time,  your 
country,  your  condition,  the  invisible  world,  are  the  in 
terrogators:  Who  are  you  ?  What  do  you  ?  Can  you  ob- 


222  THE   SCHOLAR. 

tain  what  you  wish  ?  Is  there  method  in  your  conscious 
ness  ?  Can  you  see  tendency  in  your  life  ?  Can  you  help 
any  soul  f 

Can  he  answer  these  questions  ?  can  he  dispose  of 
them  ?  Happy  if  you  can  answer  them  mutely  in  the 
order  and  disposition  of  your  life  !  Happy  for  more 
than  yourself,  a  benefactor  of  men,  if  you  can  answer 
them  iu  works  of  wisdom,  art,  or  poetry;  bestowing  on 
the  general  mind  of  men  organic  creations,  to  be  the 
guidance  and  delight  of  all  who  know  them.  These 
questions  speak  to  Genius,  to  that  power  which  is  under 
neath  and  greater  than  all  talent,  and  which  proceeds 
out  of  the  constitution  of  every  man:  —  to  Genius,  which 
is  an  emanation  of  that  it  tells  of;  whose  private  coun 
sels  are  not  tinged  with  selfishness,  but  are  laws.  Men 
of  talent  fill  the  eye  with  their  pretension.  They  go  out 
into  some  camp  of  their  own,  and  noisily  persuade  so 
ciety  that  this  thing  which  they  do  is  the  needful  cause 
of  all  men.  They  have  talents  for  contention,  and  they 
nourish  a  small  difference  into  a  loud  quarrel.  But  the 
world  is  wide,  nobody  will  go  there  after  to-morrow. 
The  gun  they  have  pointed  can  defend  nothing  but  itself, 
nor  itself  any  longer  than  the  man  is  by.  What  is  the 
use  of  artificial  positions  ?  But  Genius  has  no  taste  for 
weaving  sand,  or  for  any  trifling,  but  flings  itself  on 
real  elemental  things,  which  are  powers,  self-def ensive ; 
which  first  subsist,  and  then  resist  unweariably  forever- 
more  all  that  opposes.  Genius  has  truth  and  clings  to 
it,  so  that  what  it  says  and  does  is  not  in  a  by-road, 
visited  only  by  curiosity,  but  on  the  great  highways  of 
nature,  which  were  before  the  Appian  Way,  and  which 
all  souls  must  travel.  Genius  delights  only  in  state 
ments  which  are  themselves  true,  which  attack  and 


THE   SCHOLAR.  223 

wound  any  who  opposes  them,  whether  he  who  brought 
them  here  remains  here  or  not ;  —  which  are  live  men, 
and  do  daily  declare  fresh  war  against  all  falsehood 
and  custom,  and  will  not  let  an  offender  go;  which  so 
ciety  cannot  dispose  of  or  forget,  but  which  abide  there 
and  will  not  down  at  anybody's  bidding,  but  stand 
frowning  and  formidable,  and  will  and  must  be  finally 
obeyed  and  done. 

The  scholar  must  be  ready  for  bad  weather,  poverty, 
insult,  weariness,  repute  of  failure,  and  many  vexations. 
He  must  have  a  great  patience,  and  ride  at  anchor  and 
vanquish  every  enemy  whom  his  small  arms  cannot 
reach,  by  the  grand  resistance  of  submission,  of  ceasing 
to  do.  He  is  to  know  that  in  the  last  resort  he  is  not 
here  to  work,  but  to  be  worked  upon.  He  is  to  eat  in 
sult,  drink  insult,  be  clothed  and  shod  in  insult  until  he 
has  learned  that  this  bitter  bread  and  shameful  dress  is 
also  wholesome  and  warm,  is  in  short  indifferent;  is  of 
the  same  chemistry  as  praise  and  fat  living;  that  they 
also  are  disgrace  and  soreness  to  him  who  has  them.  I 
think  much  may  be  said  to  discourage  and  dissuade  the 
young  scholar  from  his  career.  Freely  be  that  said. 
Dissuade  all  you  can  from  the  lists.  Sift  the  wheat, 
frighten  away  the  lighter  souls.  Let  us  keep  only  the 
heavy-armed.  Let  those  come  who  cannot  but  come, 
and  who  see  that  there  is  no  choice  here,  no  advantage 
and  no  disadvantage  compared  with  other  careers.  For 
the  great  Necessity  is  our  patron,  who  distributes  sun 
and  shade  after  immutable  laws. 

Yes,  he  has  his  dark  days,  he  has  weakness,  he  has 
waitings,  he  has  bad  company,  he  is  pelted  by  storms 
of  cares,  untuning  cares,  untuning  company.  Well,  let 
him  meet  them.  He  has  not  consented  to  the  frivolity, 


224  THE   SCHOLAR. 

nor  to  the  dispersion.  The  practical  aim  is  forever 
higher  than  the  literary  aim.  He  shall  not  submit  to 
degradation,  but  shall  bear  these  crosses  with  what 
grace  he  can.  He  is  still  to  decline  how  many  glitter 
ing  opportunities,  and  to  retreat,  and  wait.  So  shall 
you  find  in  this  penury  and  absence  of  thought  a  purer 
splendor  than  ever  clothed  the  exhibitions  of  wit.  I 
invite  you  not  to  cheap  joys,  to  the  flutter  of  gratified 
vanity,  to  a  sleek  and  rosy  comfort  ;  no,  but  to  bare 
ness,  to  power,  to  enthusiasm,  to  the  mountain  of  vision, 
to  true  and  natural  supremacy,  to  the  society  of  the 
great,  and  to  love.  Give  me  bareness  and  poverty  so 
that  I  know  them  as  the  sure  heralds  of  the  Muse. 
Not  in  plenty,  not  in  a  thriving,  well-to-do  condition, 
she  delighteth.  He  that  would  sacrifice  at  her  altar 
must  not  leave  a  few  flowers,  an  apple,  or  some  symbolic 
gift.  No  ;  he  must  relinquish  orchards  and  gardens, 
prosperity  and  convenience  ;  he  may  live  on  a  heath 
without  trees  ;  sometimes  hungry,  and  sometimes  rheu 
matic  with  cold.  The  fire  retreats  and  concentrates 
within  into  a  pure  flame,  pure  as  the  stars  to  which  it 
mounts. 

But,  gentlemen,  there  is  plainly  no  end  to  these  ex 
pansions.  I  have  exhausted  your  patience,  and  I  have 
only  begun.  I  had  perhaps  wiselier  adhered  to  my  first 
purpose  of  confining  my  illustration  to  a  single  topic, 
but  it  is  so  much  easier  to  say  many  things  than  to  ex 
plain  one.  Well,  you  will  see  the  drift  of  all  my 
thoughts,  this  namely  —  that  the  scholar  must  be  much 
more  than  a  scholar,  that  his  ends  give  value  to  every 
means,  but  he  is  to  subdue  and  keep  down  his  methods  ; 
that  his  use  of  books  is  occasional,  and  infinitely  subor 
dinate  ;  that  he  should  read  a  little  proudly,  as  one  who 


THE   SCHOLAR.  225 

knows  the  original,  and  cannot  therefore  very  highly 
value  the  copy.  In  like  manner  he  is  to  hold  lightly 
every  tradition,  every  opinion,  every  person,  out  of  his 
piety  to  that  Eternal  Spirit  which  dwells  unexpressed 
with  him.  He  shall  think  very  highly  of  his  destiny. 
He  is  here  to  know  the  secret  of  Genius  ;  to  become, 
not  a  reader  of  poetry,  but  Homer,  Dante,  Milton, 
Shakspeare,  Swedenborg,  in  the  fountain,  through  that. 
If  one  man  could  impart  his  faith  to  another,  if  I  could 
prevail  to  communicate  the  incommunicable  mysteries, 
you  should  see  the  breadth  of  your  realm  ;  —  that  ever 
as  you  ascend  your  proper  and  native  path,  you  receive 
the  keys  of  Nature  and  history,  and  rise  on  the  same 
stairs  to  science  and  to  joy. 
15 


PLUTARCH. 


THE  soul 

Shall  have  society  of  its  own  rank  : 
Be  great,  be  true,  and  all  the  Scipios, 
The  Catos,  the  wise  patriots  of  Rome, 
Shall  flock  to  you  and  tarry  by  your  side, 
And  comfort  you  with  their  high  company. 


PLUTAKCH.i 


IT  is  remarkable  that  of  an  author  so  familiar  as 
Plutarch,  not  only  to  scholars,  but  to  all  reading  men, 
aiid  whose  history  is  so  easily  gathered  from  his  works, 
no  accurate  memoir  of  his  life,  not  even  the  dates  of 
his  birth  and  death,  should  have  come  down  to  us. 
Strange  that  the  writer  of  so  many  illustrious  biogra 
phies  should  wait  so  long  for  his  own.  It  is  agreed 
that  he  was  born  about  the  year  50  of  the  Christian 
era.  He  has  been  represented  as  having  been  the  tu 
tor  of  the  Emperor  Trajan,  as  dedicating  one  of  his 
books  to  him,  as  living  long  in  Rome  in  great  esteem, 
as  having  received  from  Trajan  the  consular  dignity, 
and  as  having  been  appointed  by  him  the  governor  of 
Greece.  He  was  a  man  whose  real  superiority  had  no 
need  of  these  flatteries.  Meantime,  the  simple  truth  is, 
that  he  was  not  the  tutor  of  Trajan,  that  he  dedicated 
no  book  to  him,  was  not  consul  in  Rome,  nor  governor 
of  Greece  ;  appears  never  to  ha .  e  been  in  Rome  but 
on  two  occasions,  and  then  on  business  of  the  people  of 
his  native  city,  Chaeronea  ;  and  though  he  found  or 
made  friends  at  Rome,  and  read  lectures  to  some 
friends  or  scholars,  he  diJ  not  know  or  learn  the  Latin 
language  there  ;  with  one  or  two  doubtful  exceptions, 
1  This  paper  was  originally  printed  as  an  introduction  to  Plutarch's 
Morals,  edited  by  Professor  William  W.  (>  >odwin,  and  published,  in 
1871,  by  Messrs.  Little,  Brown  &  Co.,  through  whose  courtesy  it  is 
included  in  this  edition. 


230  PLUTARCH. 

never  quotes  a  Latin  book  ;  and  though  the  contempo 
rary,  in  his  youth  or  in  his  old  age,  of  Persius,  Juvenal, 
Lucan  and  Seneca,  of  Quintilian,  Martial,  Tacitus, 
Suetonius,  Pliny  the  Elder  and  the  Younger,  he  does 
not  cite  them,  and,  in  return,  his  name  is  never  men 
tioned  by  any  Roman  writer.  It  would  seem  that  the 
community  of  letters  and  of  personal  news  was  even 
more  rare  at  that  day  than  the  want  of  printing,  of 
railroads  and  telegraphs,  would  suggest  to  us. 

But  this  neglect  by  his  contemporaries  has  been  com 
pensated  by  an  immense  popularity  in  modern  nations. 
Whilst  his  books  were  never  known  to  th-3  world  iu 
their  own  Greek  tongue,  it  is  curious  that  the  "  Lives  " 
were  translated  and  printed  in  Latin,  thence  into  Ital 
ian,  French  and  English,  more  than  a  century  before 
the  original  "  Works  "  were  yet  printed.  For  whilst  the 
"  Lives "  were  translated  in  Rome  in  1470,  and  the 
"Morals,"  part  by  part,  soon  after,  the  first  printed 
edition  of  the  Greek  "  Works "  did  not  appear  until 
1572.  Hardly  current  in  his  own  Greek,  these  found 
learned  interpreters  in  the  scholars  of  Germany,  Spain 
and  Italy.  In  France,  in  the  middle  of  the  most  turbu 
lent  civil  wars,  Amyot's  translation  awakened  general 
attention.  His  genial  version  of  the  "  Lives  "  in  1559, 
of  the  "  Morals  "  in  1572,  had  signal  success.  King 
Henry  IV.  wrote  to  his  wife,  Marie  de  Medicis  :  "  Vive 
Dieu.  As  God  liveth,  you  could  not  have  sent  me  any 
thing  which  could  be  more  agreeable  than  the  news  of 
the  pleasure  you  have  taken  in  this  reading.  Plutarch 
always  delights  me  with  a  fresh  novelty.  To  love  him 
is  to  love  me  ;  for  he  has  been  long  time  the  instructor 
of  my  youth.  My  good  mother,  to  whom  I  owe  all, 
and  who  would  not  wish,  slu  said,  to  see  her  son  au 


PLUTARCH.  231 

illustrious  dunce,  put  this  book  into  my  hands  almost 
when  I  was  a  child  at  the  breast.  It  has  been  like  my 
conscience,  and  has  whispered  in»  my  ear  many  good 
suggestions  and  maxims  for  my  couduct  and  the  gov 
ernment  of  my  affairs."  Still  earlier,  Rabelais  cites 
him  with  due  respect.  Montaigne,  in  1589,  says  :  "  We 
dunces  had  been  lost,  had  not  this  book  raised  us  out 
of  the  dirt.  By  this  favor  of  his  we  dare  now  speak 
and  write.  The  ladies  are  able  to  read  to  school 
masters.  'T  is  our  breviary."  Montesquieu  drew  from 
him  his  definition  of  law,  and,  in  his  Pense'es,  declares, 
"  I  am  always  charmed  with  Plutarch  ;  in  his  writings 
are  circumstances  attached  to  persons,  which  give  great 
pleasure  ; "  and  adds  examples.  Saint  Evremond  read 
Plutarch  to  the  great  Conde  under  a  tent.  Rollin,  so 
long  the  historian  of  antiquity  for  France,  drew  un 
hesitatingly  his  history  from  him.  Voltaire  honored 
him,  and  Rousseau  acknowledged  him  as  his  master. 
In  England,  Sir  Thomas  North  translated  the  "  Lives  " 
in  1579,  and  Holland  the  "  Morals  "  in  1603,  in  time 
to  be  used  by  Shakspeare  in  his  plays,  and  read  by 
Bacon,  Dryden,  and  Cudworth. 

Then,  recently,  there  has  been  a  remarkable  revival, 
in  France,  in  the  taste  for  Plutarch  and  his  contem 
poraries  ;  led,  we  may  say,  by  the  eminent  critic  Sainte- 
Beuve.  M.  Octave  Greard,  in  a  critical  work  on  the 
"  Morals,"  has  carefully  corrected  the  popular  legends 
and  constructed  from  the  works  of  Plutarch  himself  his 
true  biography.  M.  Leveque  has  given  an  exposition  of 
his  moral  philosophy,  under  the  title  of  "  A  Physician 
of  the  Soul,"  in  the  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes ;  and  M. 
C.  Martha,  chapters  on  the  genius  of  Marcus  Aurelius, 
of  Persius,  and  Lucretius,  in  the  same  journal ;  whilst 


232  PLUTARCH. 

M.  Fustel  de  Coulanges  has  explored  from  its  roots  in 
the  Aryan  race,  then  in  their  Greek  and  Roman  de 
scendants,  the  primeval  religion  of  the  household. 

Plutarch  occupies  a  unique  place  in  literature  as  an 
encyclopaedia  of  Greek  and  Roman  antiquity.  What 
ever  is  eminent  in  fact  or  in  fiction,  in  opinion,  in  char 
acter,  in  institutions,  in  science  —  natural,  moral,  or 
metaphysical,  or  in  memorable  sayings,  drew  his  atten 
tion  and  came  to  his  pen  with  more  or  less  fulness  of 
record.  He  is,  among  prose-writers,  what  Chaucer  is 
among  English  poets,  a  repertory  for  those  who  want 
the  story  without  searching  for  it  at  first  hand,  —  a  com- 
pend  of  all  accepted  traditions.  And  all  this  without 
any  supreme  intellectual  gifts.  He  is  not  a  profound 
mind  ;  not  a  master  in  any  science  ;  not  a  lawgiver,  like 
Lycurgus  or  Solon  ;  not  a  metaphysician,  like  Parmen- 
ides,  Plato,  or  Aristotle  ;  not  the  founder  of  any  sect  or 
community,  like  Pythagoras  or  Zeno  ;  not  a  naturalist, 
like  Pliny  or  Linnaeus  ;  not  a  leader  of  the  mind  of  a 
generation,  like  Plato  or  Goethe.  But  if  he  had  not  the 
highest  powers,  he  was  yet  a  man  of  rare  gifts.  He  had 
that  universal  sympathy  with  genius  which  makes  all 
its  victories  his  own  ;  though  he  never  used  verse,  he 
had  many  qualities  of  the  poet  in  the  power  of  his  im 
agination,  the  speed  of  his  mental  associations,  and  his 
sharp,  objective  eyes.  But  what  specially  marks  him, 
he  is  a  chief  example  of  the  illumination  of  the  intellect 
by  the  force  of  morals.  Though  the  most  amiable  of 
boon-companions,  this  generous  religion  gives  him  aper- 
cus  like  Goethe's. 

Plutarch  was  well-born,  well-taught,  well-conditioned  ; 
a  self-respecting,  amiable  man,  who  knew  how  to  better 
a  good  education  by  travels,  by  devotion  to  affairs  pri- 


PLUTARCH.  233 

vate  and  public  ;  a  master  of  ancient  culture,  he  read 
books  with  a  just  criticism  ;  eminently  social,  he  was  a 
king  in  his  own  house,  surrounded  himself  with  select 
friends,  and  knew  the  high  value  of  good  conversation  ; 
and  declares  in  a  letter  written  to  his  wife  that  "  he 
finds  scarcely  an  erasure,  as  in  a  book  well-written,  in 
the  happiness  of  his  life." 

The  range  of  mind  makes  the  glad  writer.  The  rea 
son  of  Plutarch's  vast  popularity  is  his  humanity.  A 
man  of  society,  of  affairs  ;  upright,  practical  ;  a  good 
son,  husband,  father  and  friend,  —  he  has  a  taste  for 
common  life,  and  knows  the  court,  the  camp  and  the 
judgment-hall,  but  also  the  forge,  farm,  kitchen  and 
cellar,  and  every  utensil  and  use,  and  with  a  wise  man's 
or  a  poet's  eye.  Thought  defends  him  from  any  deg 
radation.  He  does  not  lose  his  way,  for  the  attrac 
tions  are  from  within,  not  from  without.  A  poet  in 
verse  or  prose  must  have  a  sensuous  eye,  but  an  in 
tellectual  co-perception.  Plutarch's  memory  is  full, 
and  his  horizon  wide.  Nothing  touches  man  but  he 
feels  to  be  his  ;  he  is  tolerant  even  of  vice,  if  he  finds  it 
genial  ;  enough  a  man  of  the  world  to  give  even  the 
Devil  his  due,  and  would  have  hugged  Robert  Burns, 
when  he  cried  :  — 

"  O  wad  ye  tak'  a  thought  and  mend ! " 

He  is  a  philosopher  with  philosophers,  a  naturalist  with 
naturalists,  and  sufficiently  a  mathematician  to  leave 
some  of  his  readers,  now  and  then,  at  a  long  distance 
behind  him,  or  respectfully  skipping  to  the  next  chap 
ter.  But  this  scholastic  omniscience  of  our  author  en 
gages  a  new  respect,  since  they  hope  he  understands  his 
own  diagram. 

He  perpetually  suggests  Montaigne,  who  was  the 


234  PLUTARCH. 

best  reader  he  has  ever  found,  though  Montaigne  ex 
celled  his  master  in  the  point  and  surprise  of  his  sen 
tences.  Plutarch  had  a  religion  which  Montaigne 
wanted,  and  which  defends  him  from  wantonness  ;  and 
though  Plutarch  is  as  plain-spoken,  his  moral  sentiment 
is  always  pure.  What  better  praise  has  any  writer  re 
ceived  than  he  whom  Montaigne  finds  "  frank  in  giving 
things,  not  words,"  dryly  adding,  "  it  vexes  me  that  he 
is  so  exposed  to  the  spoil  of  those  that  are  conversant 
with  him."  It  is  one  of  the  felicities  of  literary  history, 
the  tie  which  inseparably  couples  these  two  names  across 
fourteen  centuries.  Montaigne,  whilst  he  grasps  fitienne 
de  la  Boece  with  one  hand,  reaches  back  the  other  to 
Plutarch.  These  distant  friendships  charm  us,  and 
honor  all  the  parties,  and  make  the  best  example  of  the 
universal  citizenship  and  fraternity  of  the  human  mind. 
I  do  not  know  where  to  find  a  book  —  to  borrow  a 
phrase  of  Ben  Jonson's  —  "  so  rammed  with  life,"  and 
this  in  chapters  chiefly  ethical,  which  are  so  prone  to 
be  heavy  and  sentimental.  No  poet  could  illustrate  his 
thought  with  more  novel  or  striking  similes  or  happier- 
anecdotes.  His  style  is  realistic,  picturesque  and  varied ; 
his  sharp  objective  eyes  seeing  everything  that  moves, 
shines,  or  threatens  in  nature  or  art,  or  thought  or 
dreams.  Indeed,  twilights,  shadows,  omens  and  spec 
tres  have  a  charm  for  him.  He  believes  in  witchcraft 
and  the  evil  eye,  in  demons  and  ghosts,  —  but  prefers, 
if  you  please,  to  talk  of  these  in  the  morning.  His 
vivacity  and  abundance  never  leave  him  to  loiter  or 
pound  on  an  incident.  I  admire  bis  rapid  and  crowded 
style,  as  if  he  had  such  store  of  anecdotes  of  his  heroes 
that  he  is  forced  to  suppress  more  than  he  recounts,  in 
order  to  keep  up  with  the  hasting  history. 


PLUTARCH.  235 

His  surprising  merit  is  the  genial  facility  with  which 
he  deals  with  his  manifold  topics.  There  is  no  trace  of 
labor  or  pain.  He  gossips  of  heroes,  philosophers  and 
poets  ;  of  virtues  and  genius  ;  of  love  and  fate  and  em 
pires.  It  is  for  his  pleasure  that  he  recites  all  that  ia 
best  in  his  reading  :  he  prattles  history.  But  he  is  no 
courtier,  and  no  Boswell :  he  is  ever  manly,  far  from 
fawning,  and  would  be  welcome  to  the  sages  and  war 
riors  he  reports,  as  one  having  a  native  right  to  admire 
and  recount  these  stirring  deeds  and  speeches.  I  find 
him  a  better  teacher  of  rhetoric  than  any  modern.  His 
superstitions  are  poetic,  aspiring,  affirmative.  A  poet 
might  rhyme  all  day  with  hints  drawn  from  Plutarch, 
page  on  page.  No  doubt,  this  superior  suggestion  for 
the  modern  reader  owes  much  to  the  foreign  air,  the 
Greek  wine,  the  religion  and  history  of  antique  heroes. 
Thebes,  Sparta,  Athens  and  Rome  charm  us  away  from 
the  disgust  of  the  passing  hour.  But  his  own  cheerful 
ness  and  rude  health  are  also  magnetic.  In  his  im 
mense  quotation  and  allusion  we  quickly  cease  to  dis 
criminate  between  what  he  quotes  and  what  he  invents. 
We  sail  on  his  memory  into  the  ports  of  every  nation, 
enter  into  every  private  property,  and  do  not  stop  to 
discriminate  owners,  but  give  him  the  praise  of  all. 
'T  is  all  Plutarch,  by  right  of  eminent  domain,  and  all 
property  vests  in  this  emperor.  This  facility  and  abun 
dance  make  the  joy  of  his  narrative,  and  he  is  read  to 
the  neglect  of  more  careful  historians.  Yet  he  inspires 
a  curiosity,  sometimes  makes  a  necessity,  to  read  them. 
He  disowns  any  attempt  to  rival  Thucydides  ;  but  I 
suppose  he  has  a  hundred  readers  where  Thucydides 
finds  one,  and  Thucydides  must  often  thank  Plutarch 
ior  that  one.  He  has  preserved  for  us  a  multitude  of 


236  PLUTARCH. 

precious  sentences,  in  prose  or  verse,  of  authors  whose 
books  are  lost ;  and  these  embalmed  fragments,  through 
his  loving  selection  alone,  have  come  to  be  proverbs  of 
later  mankind.  I  hope  it  is  only  my  immense  ignorance 
that  makes  me  believe  that  they  do  not  survive  out 
of  his  pages,  —  not  only  Thespis,  Polemos,  Euphorion, 
Ariston,  Evenus,  etc.,  but  fragments  of  Menander  and 
Pindar.  At  all  events,  it  is  in  reading  the  fragments 
he  has  saved  from  lost  authors  that  I  have  hailed  an 
other  example  of  the  sacred  care  which  has  unrolled  in 
our  times,  and  still  searches  and  unrolls  papyri  from 
ruined  libraries  and  buried  cities,  and  has  drawn  atten 
tion  to  what  an  ancient  might  call  the  politeness  of  Fate, 
—  we  will  say,  more  advisedly,  the  benign  Providence 
which  uses  the  violence  of  war,  of  earthquakes  and 
changed  water-courses,  to  save  underground  through 
barbarous  ages  the  relics  of  ancient  art,  and  thus  allows 
us  to  witness  the  upturning  of  the  alphabets  of  old 
races,  and  the  deciphering  of  forgotten  languages,  so  to 
complete  the  annals  of  the  forefathers  of  Asia,  Africa 
and  Europe. 

His  delight  in  poetry  makes  him  cite  with  joy  the 
speech  of  Gorgias,  "  that  the  tragic  poet  who  deceived 
was  juster  than  he  who  deceived  not,  and  he  that  was 
deceived  was  wiser  than  he  who  was  not  deceived." 

It  is  a  consequence  of  this  poetic  trait  in  his  mind, 
that  I  confess  that,  in  reading  him,  I  embrace  the  par 
ticulars,  and  carry  a- faint  memory  of  the  argument  or 
general  design  of  the  chapter  ;  but  he  is  not  less  wel 
come,  and  he  leaves  the  reader  with  a  relish  and  a 
necessity  for  completing  his  studies.  Many  examples 
might  be  cited  of  nervous  expression  and  happy  allu 
sion,  that  indicate  a  poet  and  an  orator,  though  he  is  not 


PLUTARCH.  237 

ambitious  of  these  titles,  and  cleaves  to  the  security  of 
prose  narrative,  and  only  shows  his  intellectual  sym 
pathy  with  these  ;  yet  I  cannot  forbear  to  cite  one  or 
two  sentences  which  none  who  reads  them  will  forget. 
In  treating  of  the  style  of  the  Pythian  Oracle,  he 
says  :  — 

"  Do  you  not  observe,  some  one  will  say,  what  a  grace 
there  is  in  Sappho's  measures,  and  how  they  delight  and 
tickle  the  ears  and  fancies  of  the  hearers  ?  Whereas 
the  Sibyl,  with  her  frantic  grimaces,  uttering  sentences 
altogether  thoughtful  and  serious,  neither  f ucused  nor 
perfumed,  continues  her  voice  a  thousand  years  through 
the  favor  of  the  Divinity  that  speaks  within  her." 

Another  gives  an  insight  into  his  mystic  tenden 
cies  :  — 

"  Early  this  morning,  asking  Epaminoudas  about  the 
manner  of  Lysis's  burial,  I  found  that  Lysis  had  taught 
him  as  far  as  the  incommunicable  mysteries  of  our  sect, 
and  that  the  same  Daemon  that  waited  on  Lysis,  pre 
sided  over  him,  if  I  can  guess  at  the  pilot  from  the  sail 
ing  of  the  ship.  The  paths  of  life  are  large,  but  in  few 
are  men  directed  by  the  Daemons.  When  Theanor  had 
said  this,  he  looked  attentively  on  Epaminondas,  as  if  he 
designed  a  fresh  search  into  his  nature  and  inclinations." 

And  here  is  his  sentiment  on  superstition,  somewhat 
condensed  in  Lord  Bacon's  citation  of  it :  "I  had  rather 
a  great  deal  that  men  should  say,  There  was  no  such 
man  at  all  as  Plutarch,  than  that  they  should  say  that 
there  was  one  Plutarch  that  would  eat  up  his  children 
as  soon  as  they  were  born,  as  the  poets  speak  of  Sat 
urn." 

The  chapter  "  On  Fortune  "  should  be  read  by  poets, 
and  other  wise  men  ;  and  the  vigor  of  his  pen  appears 


238  PLUTARCH. 

in  the  chapter  "Whether  the  Athenians  were  more 
Warlike  or  Learned,"  and  in  his  attack  upon  Usurers. 

There  is,  of  course,  a  wide  difference  of  time  in  the 
writing  of  these  discourses,  and  so  in  their  merit.  Many 
of  them  are  mere  sketches  or  notes  for  chapters  in  prep 
aration,  which  were  never  digested  or  finished.  Many 
are  notes  for  disputations  in  the  lecture-room.  His  poor 
indignation  against  Herodotus  was  perhaps  a  youthful 
prize  essay :  it  appeared  to  me  captious  and  labored  ; 
or  perhaps,  at  a  rhetorician's  school,  the  subject  of  He 
rodotus  being  the  lesson  of  the  day,  Plutarch  was  ap 
pointed  by  lot  to  take  the  adverse  side. 

The  plain-speaking  of  Plutarch,  as  of  the  ancient 
writers  generally,  coming  from  the  habit  of  writing  for 
one  sex  only,  has  a  great  gain  for  brevity,  and,  in  our 
new  tendencies  of  civilization,  may  tend  to  correct  a 
false  delicacy. 

We  are  always  interested  in  the  man  who  treats  the 
intellect  well.  We  expect  it  from  the  philosopher,  — 
from  Plato,  Aristotle,  Spinoza  and  Kant ;  but  we  know 
that  metaphysical  studies  in  any  but  minds  of  large 
horizon  and  incessant  inspiration  have  their  dangers. 
One  asks  sometimes  whether  a  metaphysician  can  treat 
the  intellect  well.  The  central  fact  is  the  superhuman 
intelligence,  pouring  into  us  from  its  unknown  fountain, 
to  be  received  with  religious  awe,  and  defended  from 
any  mixture  of  our  will.  But  this  high  Muse  comes 
and  goes  ;  and  the  danger  is  that,  when  the  Muse  is 
wanting,  the  student  is  prone  to  supply  its  place  with 
microscopic  subtleties  and  logomachy.  It  is  fatal  to 
spiritual  health  to  lose  your  admiration.  "  Let  others 
wrangle,"  said  St.  Augustine  ;  "  I  will  wonder."  Plato 
and  Plotinus  are  enthusiasts,  who  honor  the  race  ;  but 


PLUTARCH.  239 

the  logic  of  the  sophists  and  materialists,  whether  Greek 
or  French,  fills  us  with  disgust.  Whilst  we  expect  this 
awe  and  reverence  of  the  spiritual  power  from  the 
philosopher  in  his  closet,  we  praise  it  in  the  man  of  the 
world  ;  —  the  man  who  lives  on  quiet  terms  with  exist 
ing  institutions,  yet  indicates  his  perception  of  these 
high  oracles  ;  as  do  Plutarch,  Montaigne,  Hume  and 
Goethe.  These  men  lift  themselves  at  once  from  the 
vulgar  and  are  not  the  parasites  of  wealth.  Perhaps 
they  sometimes  compromise,  go  out  to  dine,  make  and 
take  compliments  ;  but  they  keep  open  the  source  of 
wisdom  and  health.  Plutarch  is  uniformly  true  to  this 
centre.  He  had  not  lost  his  wonder.  He  is  a  pro 
nounced  idealist,  who  does  not  hesitate  to  say,  like 
another  Berkeley,  "Matter  is  itself  privation;"  and 
again,  "  The  Sun  is  the  cause  that  all  men  are  ignorant 
of  Apollo,  by  sense  withdrawing  the  rational  intellect 
from  that  which  is  to  that  which  appears."  He  thinks 
that  "  souls  are  naturally  endowed  with  the  faculty  of 
prediction  ; "  he  delights  in  memory,  with  its  miracu 
lous  power  of  resisting  time.  He  thinks  that  "  Alex 
ander  invaded  Persia  with  greater  assistance  from  Aris 
totle  than  from  his  father  Philip."  He  thinks  that  "  he 
who  has  ideas  of  his  own  is  a  bad  judge  of  another  man's, 
it  being  true  that  the  Eleans  would  be  the  most  proper 
judges  of  the  Olympic  games,  were  no  Eleans  game 
sters."  He  says  of  Socrates,  that  he  endeavored  to 
bring  reason  and  things  together,  and  make  truth  con 
sist  with  sober  sense.  He  wonders  with  Plato  at  that 
nail  of  pain  and  pleasure  which  fastens  the  body  to  the 
mind.  The  mathematics  give  him  unspeakable  pleas 
ure,  but  he  chiefly  liked  that  proportion  which  teaches 
ns  to  account  that  which  is  just,  equal ;  and  not  that 
which  is  equal,  just. 


240  PLUTARCH. 

Of  philosophy  he  is  more  interested  in  the  results 
than  in  the  method.  He  has  a  just  instinct  of  the  pres 
ence  of  a  master,  and  prefers  to  sit  as  a  scholar  with 
Plato,  than  as  a  disputant  ;  and,  true  to  his  practical 
character,  he  wishes  the  philosopher  not  to  hide  in  a 
corner,  but  to  commend  himself  to  men  of  public  re 
gards  and  ruling  genius  :  "  for,  if  he  once  possess  such 
a  man  with  principles  of  honor  and  religion,  he  takes  a 
compendious  method,  by  doing  good  to  one,  to  oblige 
a  great  part  of  mankind."  'T  is  a  temperance,  not  an 
eclecticism,  which  makes  him  adverse  to  the  severe 
Stoic,  or  the  Gymnosophist,  or  Diogenes,  or  any  other 
extremist.  That  vice  of  theirs  shall  not  hinder  him 
from  citing  any  good  word  they  chanced  to  drop.  He 
is  an  eclectic  in  such  sense  as  Montaigne  was,  —  willing 
to  be  an  expectant,  not  a  dogmatist. 

In  many  of  these  chapters  it  is  easy  to  infer  the  rela 
tion  between  the  Greek  philosophers  .and  those  who 
came  to  them  for  instruction.  This  teaching  was  no 
play  nor  routine,  but  strict,  sincere  and  affectionate. 
The  part  of  each  of  the  class  is  as  important  as  that 
of  the  master.  They  are  like  the  base-ball  players,  to 
whom  the  pitcher,  the  bat,  the  catcher  and  the  scout 
are  equally  important.  And  Plutarch  thought,  with 
Ariston,  "  that  neither  a  bath  nor  a  lecture  served  any 
purpose,  unless  they  were  purgative."  Plutarch  has 
such  a  keen  pleasure  in  realities  that  he  has  none  in 
verbal  disputes  ;  he  is  impatient  of  sophistry,  and  de 
spises  the  Epicharmian  disputations  :  as,  that  he  who 
ran  in  debt  yesterday  owes  nothing  to-day,  as  being 
another  man  ;  so,  he  that  was  yesterday  invited  to  sup 
per,  the  next  night  comes  an  unbidden  guest,  for  that 
he  is  quite  another  person. 


PLUTARCH.  241 

Except  as  historical  curiosities,  little  can  be  said  in 
behalf  of  the  scientific  value  of  the  "  Opinions  of  the 
Philosophers,"  the  "  Questions  "  and  the  "  Symposiacs." 
They  are,  for  the  most  part,  very  crude  opinions  ;  many 
of  them  so  puerile  that  one  would  believe  that  Plutarch 
in  his  haste  adopted  the  notes  of  his  younger  auditors, 
some  of  them  jocosely  misreporting  the  dogma  of  the 
professor,  who  laid  them  aside  as  memoranda  for  future 
revision,  which  he  never  gave,  and  they  were  posthu 
mously  published.  Now  and  then  there  are  hints  of 
superior  science.  You  may  cull  from  this  record  of 
barbarous  guesses  of  shepherds  and  travellers,  state 
ments  that  are  predictions  of  facts  established  in  mod 
ern  science.  Usually,  when  Thales,  Anaximenes  or  An- 
aximander  are  quoted,  it  is  really  a  good  judgment. 
The  explanation  of  the  rainbow,  of  the  floods  of  the  Nile, 
and  of  the  remora,  etc.,  are  just  ;  and  the  bad  guesses 
are  not  worse  than  many  of  Lord  Bacon's. 

His  Natural  History  is  that  of  a  lover  and  poet,  and 
not  of  a  physicist.  His  humanity  stooped  affectionately 
to  trace  the  virtues  which  he  loved  in  the  animals  also. 
"  Knowing  and  not  knowing  is  the  affirmative  or  nega 
tive  of  the  dog  ;  knowing  you  is  to  be  your  friend  ;  not 
knowing  you,  your  enemy."  He  quotes  Thucydides' 
saying  that  "  not  the  desire  of  honor  only  never  grows 
old,  but  much  less  also  the  inclination  to  society  and  af 
fection  to  the  State,  which  continue  even  in  ants  and 
bees  to  the  very  last." 

But,  though  curious  in  the  questions  of  the  schools  on 
the  nature  and  genesis  of  things,  his  extreme  interest  in 
every  trait  of  character,  and  his  broad  humanity,  lead 
him  constantly  to  Morals,  to  the  study  of  the  Beautiful 
and  Good.  Hence  his  love  of  heroes,  bis  rule  of  life, 
16 


242  PLUTARCH. 

and  his  clear  convictions  of  the  high  destiny  of  the  soul. 
La  Harpe  said  that  "  Plutarch  is  the  genius  the  most 
naturally  moral  that  ever  existed." 

'T  is  almost  inevitable  to  compare  Plutarch  with  Sen 
eca,  who,  born  fifty  years  earlier,  was  for  many  years 
his  contemporary,  though  they  never  met,  and  their 
writings  were  perhaps  unknown  to  each  other.  Plu 
tarch  is  genial,  with  an  endless  interest  in  all  human 
and  divine  things  ;  Seneca,  a  professional  philosopher,  a 
writer  of  sentences,  and,  though  he  keep  a  sublime  path, 
is  less  interesting,  because  less  humane  ;  and  when  we 
have  shut  his  book,  we  forget  to  open  it  again.  There 
is  a  certain  violence  in  his  opinions,  and  want  of  sweet 
ness.  He  lacks  the  sympathy  of  Plutarch.  He  is  tire 
some  through  perpetual  didactics.  He  is  not  happily 
living.  Cannot  the  simple  lover  of  truth  enjoy  the  vir 
tues  of  those  he  meets,  and  the  virtues  suggested  by 
them,  so  to  find  himself  at  some  time  purely  contented  ? 
Seneca  was  still  more  a  man  of  the  world  than  Plu 
tarch  ;  and,  by  his  conversation  with  the  Court  of  Nero, 
and  his  own  skill,  like  Voltaire's,  of  living*  with  men  of 
business  and  emulating  their  address  in  affairs  by  great 
accumulation  of  his  own  property,  learned  to  temper  his 
philosophy  with  facts.  He  ventured  far,  —  apparently 
too  far,  —  for  so  keen  a  conscience  as  he  inly  had.  Yet 
we  owe  to  that  wonderful  moralist  illustrious  maxims  ; 
as  if  the  scarlet  vices  of  the  times  of  Nero  had  the  nat 
ural  effect  of  driving  virtue  to  its  loftiest  antagonisms. 
"  Seneca,"  says  L'Estrange,  "  was  a  pagan  Christian, 
and  is  very  good  reading  for  our  Christian  pagans." 
He  was  Buddhist  in  his  cold  abstract  virtue,  with  a  cer 
tain  impassibility  beyond  humanity.  He  called  pity, 
"  that  fault  of  narrow  souls."  Yet  what  noble  words 


PLUTARCH.  243 

we  owe  to  him  :  "  God  divided  man  into  men,  that  they 
might  help  each  other  ; "  and  again,  "  The  good  man 
differs  from  God  in  nothing  but  duration."  His  thoughts 
are  excellent,  if  only  he  had  the  right  to  say  them.  Plu 
tarch,  meantime,  with  every  virtue  under  heaven,  thought 
it  the  top  of  wisdom  to  philosophize  yet  not  appear  to 
do  it,  and  to  reach  in  mirth  the  same  ends  which  the 
most  serious  are  proposing. 

Plutarch  thought  "  truth  to  be  the  greatest  good  that 
man  can  receive,  and  the  goodliest  blessing  that  God 
can  give."  "  When  you  are  persuaded  in  your  mind 
that  you  cannot  either  offer  or  perform  anything  more 
agreeable  to  the  gods  than  the  entertaining  a  right  no 
tion  of  them,  you  will  then  avoid  superstition  as  a  no 
less  evil  than  atheism."  He  cites  Euripides  to  affirm, 
"  If  gods  do  aught  dishonest,  they  are  no  gods,"  and  the 
memorable  words  of  Antigone,  in  Sophocles,  concerning 
the  moral  sentiment  :  — 

"  For  neither  now  nor  yesterday  began 
These  thoughts,  which  have  been  ever,  nor  yet  can 
A  man  be  found  who  their  first  entrance  knew." 

His  faith  in  the  immortality  of  the  soul  is  another 
measure  of  his  deep  humanity.  He  reminds  his  friends 
that  the  Delphic  oracles  have  given  several  answers  the 
same  in  substance  as  that  formerly  given  to  Corax  the 

Naxian :  — 

"It  sounds  profane  impiety 
To  teach  that  human  souls  e'er  die." 

He  believes  that  the  doctrine  of  the  Divine  Providence, 
and  that  of  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  rest  on  one  and 
the  same  basis.  He  thinks  it  impossible  either  that  a 
man  beloved  of  the  gods  should  not  be  happy,  or  that  a 
irise  and  just  man  should  not  be  beloved  of  the  gods. 


244  PLUTARCH. 

To  him  the  Epicureans  are  hateful,  who  held  that  the 
soul  perishes  when  it  is  separated  from  the  body.  "  The 
soul,  incapable  of  death,  suffers  in  the  same  manner  in 
the  body,  as  birds  that  are  kept  in  a  cage."  He  believes 
"  that  the  souls  of  infants  pass  immediately  into  a  bet 
ter  and  more  divine  state." 

I  can  easily  believe  that  an  anxious  soul  may  find  in 
Plutarch's  chapter  called  "  Pleasure  not  attainable  by 
Epicurus,"  and  his  "  Letter  to  his  Wife  Timoxena,"  a 
more  sweet  and  reassuring  argument  on  the  immortal 
ity  than  in  the  Phsedo  of  Plato  ;  for  Plutarch  always  ad 
dresses  the  question  on  the  human  side,  and  not  on  the 
metaphysical  ;  as  Walter  Scott  took  hold  of  boys  and 
young  men,  in  England  and  America,  and  through  them 
of  their  fathers.  His  grand  perceptions  of  duty  lead 
him  to  his  stern  delight  in  heroism  ;  a  stoic  resistance 
to  low  indulgence  ;  to  a  fight  with  fortune  ;  a  regard 
for  truth  ;  his  love  of  Sparta,  and  of  heroes  like  Aris- 
tides,  Phocion  and  Cato.  He  insists  that  the  highest 
good  is  in  action.  He  thinks  that  the  inhabitants  of  Asia 
came  to  be  vassals  to  one,  only  for  not  having  been  able 
to  pronounce  one  syllable  ;  which  is,  No.  So  keen  is  his 
sense  of  allegiance  to  right  reason,  that  he  makes  a  fight 
against  Fortune  whenever  she  is  named.  At  Rome  he 
thinks  her  wings  were  clipped  :  she  stood  no  longer  on 
a  ball,  but  on  a  cube  as  large  as  Italy.  He  thinks  it 
was  by  superior  virtue  that  Alexander  won  his  battles  in 
Asia  and  Africa,  and  the  Greeks  theirs  against  Persia. 

But  this  Stoic  in  his  fight  with  Fortune,  with  vices, 
effeminacy  and  indolence,  is  gentle  as  a  woman  when 
other  strings  are  touched.  He  is  the  most  amiable  of 
men.  "  To  erect  a  trophy  in  the  soul  against  anger  is 
that  which  none  but  a  great  and  victorious  puissance  is 


PLUTARCH.  245 

able  to  achieve."  —  "  Anger  turns  the  mind  out  of  doors, 
and  bolts  the  door."  He  has  a  tenderness  almost  to 
tears  when  he  writes  on  "  Friendship,"  on  the  "  Train 
ing  of  Children,"  and  on  the  "Love  of  Brothers." 
"There  is  no  treasure,"  he  says,  "parents  can  Tive  to 
their  children,  like  a  brother  ;  't  is  a  friend  given  by 
nature,  a  gift  nothing  can  supply  ;  once  lost,  not  to  be 
replaced.  The  Arcadian  prophet,  of  whom  Herodotus 
speaks,  was  obliged  to  make  a  wooden  foot  in  place  of 
that  which  had  been  chopped  off.  A  brother,  embroiled 
with  his  brother,  going  to  seek  in  the  street  a  stranger 
who  can  take  his  place,  resembles  him  who  will  cut  off 
his  foot  to  give  himself  one  of  wood." 

All  his  judgments  are  noble.  He  thought,  with  Epi 
curus,  that  it  is  more  delightful  to  do  than  to  receive  a 
kindness.  "  This  courteous,  gentle,  and  benign  dispo 
sition  and  behavior  is  not  so  acceptable,  so  obliging  or 
delightful  to  any  of  those  with  whom  we  converse,  as  it 
is  to  those  who  have  it."  There  is  really  no  limit  to  his 
bounty  :  "  It  would  be  generous  to  lend  our  eyes  and 
ears,  nay,  if  possible,  our  reason  and  fortitude  to  oth 
ers,  whilst  we  are  idle  or  asleep."  His  excessive  and 
fanciful  humanity  reminds  one  of  Charles  Lamb,  whilst 
it  much  exceeds  him.  When  the  guests  are  gone,  he 
"  would  leave  one  lamp  burning,  only  as  a  sign  of  the 
respect  he  bore  to  fires,  for  nothing  so  resembles  an  ani 
mal  as  fire.  It  is  moved  and  nourished  by  itself,  and 
by  its  brightness,  like  the  soul,  discovers  and  makes 
everything  apparent,  and  in  its  quenching  shows  some 
power  that  seems  to  proceed  from  a  vital  principle,  for 
it  makes  a  noise  and  resists,  like  an  animal  dying,  or  vio 
lently  slaughtered  ;  "  and  he  praises  the  Romans,  who, 
when  the  feast  was  over,  "  dealt  well  with  the  lamps, 


246  PLUTARCH. 

and  did  not  take  away  the  nourishment  they  had  given, 
but  permitted  them  to  live  and  shine  by  it." 

I  can  almost  regret  that  the  learned  editor  of  the 
present  republication  has  not  preserved,  if  only  as  a 
piece  of  history,  the  preface  of  Mr.  Morgan,  the  editor 
and  in  part  writer  of  this  Translation  of  1718.  In  his 
dedication  of  the  work  to  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury, 
Wm.  Wake,  he  tells  the  Primate  that  "  Plutarch  was  the 
wisest  man  of  his  age,  and,  if  he  had  been  a  Christian, 
one  of  the  best  too  ;  but  it  was  his  severe  fate  io  flourish 
in  those  days  of  ignorance,  which,  't  is  a  favorable  opinion 
to  hope  that  the  Almighty  will  sometime  wink  at  •  that  our 
souls  may  be  with  these  philosophers  together  in  the  same 
state  of  bliss."  The  puzzle  in  the  worthy  translator's 
mind  between  his  theology  and  his  reason  well  appears 
in  the  puzzle  of  his  sentence. 

I  know  that  the  chapter  of  "  Apothegms  of  Noblo 
Commanders  "  is  rejected  by  some  critics  as  not  a  gen 
uine  work  of  Plutarch  ;  but  the  matter  is  good,  and  is  so 
agreeable  to  his  taste  and  genius,  that  if  he  had  found 
it,  he  would  have  adopted  it.  If  he  did  not  compile 
the  piece,  many,  perhaps  most  of  the  anecdotes  were 
already  scattered  in  his  works.  If  I  do  not  lament 
that  a  work  not  his  should  be  ascribed  to  him,  I  regret 
that  he  should  have  suffered  such  destruction  of  his 
own.  What  a  trilogy  is  lost  to  mankind  in  his  Lives  of 
Scipio,  Epamimondas  and  Pindar  ! 

His  delight  in  magnanimity  and  self-sacrifice  has 
made  his  books,  like  Homer's  Iliad,  a  bible  for  heroes  ; 
and  wherever  the  Cid  is  relished,  the  legends  of  Arthur, 
•Saxon  Alfred  and  Richard  the  Lion-hearted,  Robert 
Bruce,  Sydney,  Lord  Herbert  of  Cherbury,  Cromwell, 
Nelson,  Bonaparte,  and  Walter  Scott's  chronicles  iu 


PLUTARCH.  247 

prose  or  verse,  —  there  will  Plutarch,  who  told  the 
story  of  Leonidas,  of  Agesilaus,  of  Aristides,  Phocion, 
Themistocles,  Demosthenes,  Epaminondas,  Caesar,  Cato 
and  the  rest,  sit  as  the  bestower  of  the  crown  of  noble 
knighthood,  and  laureate  of  the  ancient  world. 

The  chapters  "  On  the  Fortune  of  Alexander,"  in  the 
"  Morals,"  are  an  important  appendix  to  the  portrait  in 
the  "  Lives."  The  union  in  Alexander  of  sublime  cour 
age  with  the  refinement  of  his  pure  tastes,  making  him 
the  carrier  of  civilization  into  the  East,  are  in  the  spirit 
of  the  ideal  hero,  and  endeared  him  to  Plutarch.  That 
prince  kept  Homer's  poems  not  only  for  himself  under 
his  pillow  in  his  tent,  but  carried  these  for  the  delight 
of  the  Persian  youth,  and  made  them  acquainted  also 
with  the  tragedies  of  Euripides  and  Sophocles.  He 
persuaded  the  Sogdians  not  to  kill,  but  to  cherish  their 
aged  parents  ;  the  Persians  to  reverence,  not  marry 
their  mothers  ;  the  Scythians  to  bury,  and  not  eat  their 
dead  parents.  What  a  fruit  and  fitting  monument  of 
his  best  days  was  his  city  Alexandria,  to  be  the  birth 
place  or  home  of  Plotinus,  St.  Augustine,  Synesius, 
Posidonius,  Ammonius,  Jamblichus,  Porphyry,  Origen, 
Aratus,  Apollonius  and  Apuleius. 

If  Plutarch  delighted  in  heroes,  and  held  the  balance 
between  the  severe  Stoic  and  the  indulgent  Epicurean, 
his  humanity  shines  not  less  in  his  intercourse  with  his 
personal  friends.  He  was  a  genial  host  and  guest,  and 
delighted  in  bringing  chosen  companions  to  the  supper- 
table.  He  knew  the  laws  of  conversation  and  the  laws 
of  good-fellowship  quite  as  well  as  Horace,  and  has  set 
them  down  with  such  candor  and  grace  as  to  make  them 
good  reading  to-day.  The  guests  not  invited  to  a  pri 
vate  board  by  the  entertainer,  but  introduced  by  a  guest 


248  PLUTARCH. 

as  his  companions,  the  Greek  called  shadoivs  •  and  the 
question  is  debated  whether  it  was  civil  to  bring  them, 
and  he  treats  it  candidly,  but  concludes  :  "  Therefore, 
when  I  make  an  invitation,  since  it  is  hard  to  break  the 
custom  of  the  place,  I  give  my  guests  leave  to  bring 
shadows  ;  but  when  I  myself  am  invited  as  a  shadow,  I 
assure  you  I  refuse  to  go."  He  has  an  objection  to  the 
introduction  of  music  at  feasts.  He  thought  it  wonder 
ful  that  a  man  having  a  muse  in  his  own  breast,  and  all 
the  pleasantness  that  would  fit  an  entertainment,  would 
have  pipes  and  harps  play,  and  by  that  external  noise 
destroy  all  the  sweetness  that  was  proper  and  his  own. 

I  cannot  close  these  notes  without  expressing  my  sense 
of  the  valuable  service  which  the  Editor  has  rendered 
to  his  Author  and  to  his  readers.  Professor  Goodwin 
is  a  silent  benefactor  to  the  book,  wherever  I  have  com 
pared  the  editions.  I  did  not  know  how  careless  and 
vicious  in  parts  the  old  book  was,  until,  in  recent  read 
ing  of  the  old  text,  on  coming  on  anything  absurd  or 
unintelligible,  I  referred  to  the  new  text  and  found  a 
clear  and  accurate  statement  in  its  place.  It  is  the 
vindication  of  Plutarch.  The  correction  is  not  only  of 
names  of  authors  and  of  places  grossly  altered  or  mis 
spelled,  but  of  unpardonable  liberties  taken  by  the  trans 
lators,  whether  from  negligence  or  freak. 

One  proof  of  Plutarch's  skill  as  a  writer  is  that  he 
bears  translation  so  well.  In  spite  of  its  carelessness 
and  manifold  faults,  which,  I  doubt  not,  have  tried  the 
patience  of  its  present  learned  editor  and  corrector,  I 
yet  confess  my  enjoyment  of  this  old  version,  for  its 
vigorous  English  style.  The  work  of  some  forty  or  fifty 
University  men,  some  of  them  imperfect  in  their  Greek, 
it  is  a  monument  of  the  English  language  at  a  period  of 


PLUTARCH.  249 

singular  vigor  and  freedom  of  style.  I  hope  the  Com 
mission  of  the  Philological  Society  in  London,  charged 
with  the  duty  of  preparing  a  Critical  Dictionary,  will 
not  overlook  these  volumes,  which  show  the  wealth  of 
their  tongue  to  greater  advantage  than  many  books  of 
more  renown  as  models.  It  runs  through  the  whole 
scale  of  conversation  in  the  street,  the  market,  the  cof 
fee-house,  the  law  courts,  the  palace,  the  college  and 
the  church.  There  are,  no  doubt,  many  vulgar  phrases, 
and  many  blunders  of  the  printer  ;  but  it  is  the  speech 
of  business  and  conversation,  and  in  every  tone,  from 
lowest  to  highest. 

We  owe  to  these  translators  many  sharp  perceptions 
of  the  wit  and  humor  of  their  author,  sometimes  even 
to  the  adding  of  the  point.  I  notice  one,  which,  al 
though  the  translator  has  justified  his  rendering  in  a 
note,  the  severer  criticism  of  the  Editor  has  not  re 
tained.  "  Were  there  not  a  sun,  we  might,  for  all  the 
other  stars,  pass  our  days  in  the  Reverend  Dark,  as 
Heraclitus  calls  it."  I  find  a  humor  in  the  phrase  which 
might  well  excuse  its  doubtful  accuracy. 

It  is  a  service  to  our  Republic  to  publish  a  book  that 
can  force  ambitious  young  men,  before  they  mount  the 
platform  of  the  county  conventions,  to  read  the  "  La 
conic  Apothegms  "  and  the  "  Apothegms  of  Great  Com 
manders."  If  we  could  keep  the  secret,  and  commu 
nicate  it  only  to  a  few  chosen  aspirants,  we  might  confide 
that,  by  this  noble  infiltration,  they  would  easily  carry 
the  victory  over  all  competitors.  But,  as  it  was  the 
desire  of  these  old  patriots  to  fill  with  their  majestic 
spirit  all  Sparta  or  Rome,  and  not  a  few  leaders  only, 
we  hasten  to  offer  them  to  the  American  people. 


250  PLUTARCH. 

Plutarch's  popularity  will  return  in  rapid  cycles.  If 
over-read  in  this  decade,  so  that  his  anecdotes  and  opin 
ions  become  commonplace,  and  to-day's  novelties  are 
sought  for  variety,  his  sterling  values  will  presently  re 
call  the  eye  and  thought  of  the  best  minds,  and  his 
books  will  be  reprinted  and  read  anew  by  coming  gen 
erations.  And  thus  Plutarch  will  be  perpetually  redis 
covered  from  time  to  time  as  long  as  books  last. 


HISTORIC  NOTES   OF   LIFE   AND 
LETTERS  IN  NEW  ENGLAND. 


'  OF  old  things  all  are  over  old, 

Of  good  things  none  are  good  enough  ;  — 
We  '11  show  that  we  can  help  to  frame 
A  world  of  other  stuff." 

WORDSWORTH. 


FOR  Joy  and  Beauty  planted  it 
With  faerie  gardens  cheered, 

And  boding  Fancy  haunted  it 
With  men  and  women  weird. 


HISTORIC  NOTES  OF  LIFE  AND  LET 
TERS  IN  NEW  ENGLAND. 


THE  ancient  manners  were  giving  way.  There  grew 
a  certain  tenderness  on  the  people,  not  before  remarked. 
Children  had  been  repressed  and  kept  in  the  back 
ground  ;  now  they  were  considered,  cosseted  and  pam 
pered.  I  recall  the  remark  of  a  witty  physician  who 
remembered  the  hardships  of  his  own  youth  ;  he  said, 
"  It  was  a  misfortune  to  have  been  born  when  children 
were  nothing,  and  to  live  till  men  were  nothing." 

There  are  always  two  parties,  the  party  of  the  Past 
and  the  party  of  the  Future  ;  the  Establishment  and  the 
Movement.  At  times  the  resistance  is  reanimated,  the 
schism  runs  under  the  world  and  appears  in  Literature, 
Philosophy,  Church,  State,  and  social  customs.  It  is 
not  easy  to  date  these  eras  of  activity  with  any  preci 
sion,  but  in  this  region  one  made  itself  remarked,  say 
in  1820  and  the  twenty  years  following. 

It  seemed  a  war  between  intellect  and  affection  ;  a 
crack  in  nature,  which  split  every  church  in  Christen 
dom  into  Papal  and  Protestant  ;  Calvinism  into  Old 
and  New  schools  ;  Quakerism  into  Old  and  New  ; 
brought  new  divisions  in  politics  ;  as  the  new  conscience 
touching  temperance  and  slavery.  The  key  to  the 


254  HISTORIC   NOTES   OF 

period  appeared  to  be  that  the  mind  had  become  aware 
of  itself.  Men  grew  reflective  and  intellectual.  There 
-#as  a  new  consciousness.  The  former  generations  acted 
under  the  belief  that  a  shining  social  prosperity  was  the 
beatitude  of  man,  and  sacrificed  uniformly  the  citizen 
to  the  State.  The  modern  mind  believed  that  the  na 
tion  existed  for  the  individual,  for  the  guardianship  and 
education  of  every  man.  This  idea,  roughly  written  in 
revolutions  and  national  movements,  in  the  mind  of  the 
philosopher  had  far  more  precision  ;  the  individual  is 
the  world. 

This  perception  is  a  sword  such  as  was  never  drawn 
before.  It  divides  and  detaches  bone  and  marrow,  soul 
and  body,  yea,  almost  the  man  from  himself.  It  is  the 
age  of  severance,  of  dissociation,  of  freedom,  of  analy 
sis,  of  detachment.  Every  man  for  himself.  The  pub 
lic  speaker  disclaims  speaking  for  any  other  ;  he  an 
swers  only  for  himself.  The  social  sentiments  are 
weak  ;  the  sentiment  of  patriotism  is  weak  ;  veneration 
is  low  ;  the  natural  affections  feebler  than  they  were. 
People  grow  philosophical  about  native  land  and  par 
ents  and  relations.  There  is  an  universal  resistance  to 
ties  and  ligaments  once  supposed  essential  to  civil  soci 
ety.  The  new  race  is  stiff,  heady  and  rebellious  ;  they 
are  fanatics  in  freedom  ;  they  hate  tolls,  taxes,  turn 
pikes,  banks,  hierarchies,  governors,  yea,  almost  laws. 
They  have  a  neck  of  unspeakable  tenderness  ;  it  winces 
at  a  hair.  They  rebel  against  theological  as  against  po 
litical  dogmas  ;  against  mediation,  or  saints,  or  any  no 
bility  in  the  unseen. 

The  age  tends  to  solitude.  The  association  of  the 
time  is  accidental  and  momentary  and  hypocritical,  the 
detachment  intrinsic  and  progressive.  The  association 


LIFE   AND   LETTERS   IN   NEW   ENGLAND.       255 

is  for  power,  merely,  —  for  means  ;  the  end  being  the 
enlargement  and  independency  of  the  individual.  An 
ciently,  society  was  in  the  course  of  things.  There  was 
a  Sacred  Band,  a  Theban  Phalanx.  There  can  be  none 
now.  College  classes,  military  corps,  or  trades-unions 
may  fancy  themselves  indissoluble  for  a  moment,  over 
their  wine  ;  but  it  is  a  painted  hoop,  and  has  no  girth. 
The  age  of  arithmetic  and  of  criticism  has  set  in.  The 
structures  of  old  faith  in  every  department  of  society 
a  few  centuries  have  sufficed  to  destroy.  Astrology, 
magic,  palmistry,  are  long  gone.  The  very  last  ghost  is 
laid.  Demonology  is  on  its  last  legs.  Prerogative,  gov 
ernment,  goes  to  pieces  day  by  day.  Europe  is  strewn 
with  wrecks  ;  a  constitution  once  a  week.  In  social 
manners  and  morals  the  revolution  is  just  as  evident. 
In  the  law  courts,  crimes  of  fraud  have  taken  the  place 
of  crimes  of  force.  The  stockholder  has  stepped  into 
the  place  of  the  warlike  baron.  The  nobles  shall  not 
any  longer,  as  feudal  lords,  have  power  of  life  and 
death  over  the  churls,  but  now,  in  another  shape,  as 
capitalists,  shall  in  all  love  and  peace  eat  them  up  as 
before.  Nay,  government  itself  becomes  the  resort  of 
those  whom  government  was  invented  to  restrain.  "  Are 
there  any  brigands  on  the  road  ?  "  inquired  the  travel 
ler  in  France.  "  Oh,  no,  set  your  heart  at  rest  on  that 
point,"  said  the  landlord  ;  "  what  should  these  fellows 
keep  the  highway  for,  when  they  can  rob  just  as  effectu 
ally,  and  much  more  at  their  ease,  in  the  bureaus  of  of 
fice  ?  " 

In  literature  the  effect  appeared  in  the  decided  ten 
dency  of  criticism.  The  most  remarkable  literary  work 
of  the  age  has  for  its  hero  and  subject  precisely  this  in 
troversion  :  I  mean  the  poem  of  Faust.  In  philosophy, 


256  HISTORIC   NOTES   OF 

Immanuel  Kant  has  made  the  best  catalogue  of  the  hu 
man  faculties  and  the  best  analysis  of  the  mind.  Hegel 
also,  especially.  In  science  the  French  savant,  exact, 
nitiless,  with  barometer,  crucible,  chemic  test  and  calcu 
lus  in  hand,  travels  into  all  nooks  and  islands,  to  weigh, 
to  analyze  and  report.  And  chemistry,  which  is  the 
analysis  of  matter,  has  taught  us  that  we  eat  gas,  drink 
gas,  tread  on  gas,  and  are  gas.  The  same  decomposi 
tion  has  changed  the  whole  face  of  physics  ;  the  like  in 
all  arts,  modes.  Authority  falls,  in  Church,  College, 
Courts  of  Law,  Faculties,  Medicine.  Experiment  is 
credible  ;  antiquity  is  grown  ridiculous. 

It  marked  itself  by  a  certain  predominance  of  the 
intellect  in  the  balance  of  powers.  The  warm  swart 
Earth-spirit  which  made  the  strength  of  past  ages, 
mightier  than  it  knew,  with  instincts  instead  of  science, 
like  a  mother  yielding  food  from  her  own  breast  in 
stead  of  preparing  it  through  chemic  and  culinary  skill, 
—  warm  negro  ages  of  sentiment  and  vegetation,  —  all 
gone  ;  another  hour  had  struck  and  other  forms  arose. 
Instead  of  the  social  existence  which  all  shared,  was 
now  separation.  Every  one  for  himself  ;  driven  to  find 
all  his  resources,  hopes,  rewards,  society  and  deity 
within  himself. 

The  young  men  were  born  with  knives  in  their  brain, 
a  tendency  to  introversion,  self-dissection,  anatomizing 
of  motives.  The  popular  religion  of  our  fathers  had 
received  many  severe  shocks  from  the  new  times  ;  from 
the  Arminians,  which  was  the  current  name  of  the  back 
sliders  from  Calvinism,  sixty  years  ago  ;  then  from  the 
English  philosophic  theologians,  Hartley  and  Priestley 
and  Belsham,  the  followers  of  Locke  ;  and  then  I 
should  say  much  later  from  the  slow  but  extraordinary 


LIFE   AND   LETTERS   IN   NEW   ENGLAND.        257 

influence  of  Swedenborg  ;  a  man  of  prodigious  mind, 
though  as  I  think  tainted  with  a  certain  suspicion  of 
insanity,  and  therefore  generally  disowned,  but  exert 
ing  a  singular  power  over  an  important  intellectual 
class  ;  then  the  powerful  influence  of  the  genius  and 
character  of  Dr.  Channing. 

Germany  had  created  criticism  in  vain  for  us  until 
1820,  when  Edward  Everett  returned  from  his  five 
years  in  Europe,  and  brought  to  Cambridge  his  rich 
results,  which  no  one  was  so  fitted  by  natural  grace  and 
the  splendor  of  his  rhetoric  to  introduce  and  recom 
mend.  He  made  us  for  the  first  time  acquainted  with 
Wolff's  theory  of  the  Homeric  writings,  with  the  criti 
cism  of  Heyne.  The  novelty  of  the  learning  lost  noth 
ing  in  the  skill  and  genius  of  his  relation,  and  the 
rudest  undergraduate  found  a  new  morning  opened  to 
him  in  the  lecture-room  of  Harvard  Hall. 

There  was  an  influence  on  the  young  people  from  the 
genius  of  Everett  which  was  almost  comparable  to  that 
of  Pericles  in  Athens.  He  had  an  inspiration  which 
did  not  go  beyond  his  head,  but  which  made  him  the 
master  of  elegance.  If  any  of  my  readers  were  at  that 
period  in  Boston  or  Cambridge,  they  will  easily  remem 
ber  his  radiant  beauty  of  person,  of  a  classic  style,  his 
heavy  large  eye,  marble  lids,  which  gave  the  impression 
of  mass  which  the  slightness  of  his  form  needed  ;  sculp 
tured  lips  ;  a  voice  of  such  rich  tones,  such  precise  and 
perfect  utterance,  that,  although  slightly  nasal,  it  was 
the  most  mellow  and  beautiful  and  correct  of  all  the 
instruments  of  the  time.  The  word  that  he  spoke,  in 
the  manner  in  which  he  spoke  it,  became  current  and 
classical  in  New  England.  He  had  a  great  talent  for 
collecting  facts,  and  for  bringing  those  he  had  to  bear 
IT 


258  HISTORIC   NOTES   OF 

with  ingenious  felicity  on  the  topic  of  the  moment.  Let 
him  rise  to  speak  on  what  occasion  soever,  a  fact  had 
always  just  transpired  which  composed,  with  some  other 
fact  well  known  to  the  audience,  the  most  pregnant  and 
happy  coincidence.  It  was  remarked  that  for  a  man 
who  threw  out  so  many  facts  he  was  seldom  convicted 
of  a  blunder.  He  had  a  good  deal  of  special  learning, 
and  all  his  learning  was  available  for  purposes  of  the 
hour.  It  was  all  new  learning,  that  wonderfully  took 
and  stimulated  the  young  men.  It  was  so  coldty  and 
weightily  communicated  from  so  commanding  a  plat 
form,  as  if  in  the  consciousness  and  consideration  of  all 
history  and  all  learning,  —  adorned  with  so  many  sim 
ple  and  austere  beauties  of  expression,  and  enriched 
with  so  many  excellent  digressions  and  significant  quo 
tations,  that,  though  nothing  could  be  conceived  before 
hand  less  attractive  or  indeed  less  fit  for  green  boys 
from  Connecticut,  New  Hampshire  and  Massachusetts, 
with  their  unripe  Latin  and  Greek  reading,  than  exeget- 
ical  discourses  in  the  style  of  Voss  and  Wolff  and  Ruhn- 
ken,  on  the  Orphic  and  Ante-Homeric  remains,  —  yet 
this  learning  instantly  took  the  highest  place  to  our  im 
agination  in  our  unoccupied  American  Parnassus.  All 
his  auditors  felt  the  extreme  beauty  and  dignity  of 
the  manner,  and  even  the  coarsest  were  contented  to 
go  punctually  to  listen,  for  the  manner,  when  they  had 
found  out  that  the  subject-matter  was  not  for  them.  In 
the  lecture-room,  he  abstained  from  all  ornament,  and 
pleased  himself  with  the  play  of  detailing  erudition  in 
a  style  of  perfect  simplicity.  In  the  pulpit  (for  he  was 
then  a  clergyman)  he  made  amends  to  himself  and  his 
auditor  for  the  self-denial  of  the  professor's  chair,  and, 
with  an  infantine  simplicity  still,  of  manner,  he  gave 
the  reins  to  his  florid,  quaint  and  affluent  fancy. 


LIFE  AND  LETTERS  IN  NEW  ENGLAND.   259 

Then  was  exhibited  all  the  richness  of  a  rhetoric 
which  we  have  never  seen  rivalled  in  this  country. 
Wonderful  how  memorable  were  words  made  which 
were  only  pleasing  pictures,  and  covered  no  new  or 
valid  thoughts.  He  abounded  in  sentences,  in  wit,  in 
satire,  in  splendid  allusion,  hi  quotation  impossible  to 
forget,  in  daring  imagery,  in  parable  and  even  in  a  sort 
of  defying  experiment  of  his  own  wit  and  skill  in  giv 
ing  an  oracular  weight  to  Hebrew  or  Rabbinical  words  ; 
—  feats  which  no  man  could  better  accomplish,  such 
was  his  self-command  and  the  security  of  his  manner. 
All  his  speech  was  music,  and  with  such  variety  and  in 
vention  that  the  ear  was  never  tired.  Especially  beauti 
ful  were  his  poetic  quotations.  .  He  delighted  in  quoting 
Milton,  and  with  such  sweet  modulation  that  he  seemed 
to  give  as  much  beauty  as  he  borrowed  ;  and  whatever 
he  has  quoted  will  be  remembered  by  any  who  heard 
him,  with  inseparable  association  with  his  voice  and  ge 
nius.  He  had  nothing  in  common  with  vulgarity  and 
infirmity,  but,  speaking,  walking,  sitting,  was  as  much 
aloof  and  uncommon  as  a  star.  The  smallest  anecdote 
of  his  behavior  or  conversation  was  eagerly  caught  and 
repeated,  and  every  young  scholar  could  recite  brilliant 
sentences  from  his  sermons,  with  mimicry,  good  or  bad, 
of  his  voice.  This  influence  went  much  farther,  for  he 
who  was  heard  with  such  throbbing  hearts  and  spark 
ling  eyes  in  the  lighted  and  crowded  churches,  did  not 
let  go  his  hearers  when  the  church  was  dismissed,  but 
the  bright  image  of  that  eloquent  form  followed  the 
boy  home  to  his  bed-chamber  ;  and  not  a  sentence  was 
written  in  academic  exercises,  not  a  declamation  at 
tempted  in  the  college  chapel,  but  showed  the  omni 
presence  of  his  genius  to  youthful  heads.  This  made 


200  HISTORIC   NOTES   OF 

every  youth  his  defender,  and  boys  filled  their  mouths 
with  arguments  to  prove  that  the  orator  had  a  heart. 
This  was  a  triumph  of  Rhetoric.  It  was  not  the  intel 
lectual  or  the  moral  principles  which  he  had  to  teach. 
It  was  not  thoughts.  When  Massachusetts  was  full  of 
his  fame  it  was  not  contended  that  he  had  thrown  any 
truths  into  circulation.  But  his  power  lay  in  the  magic 
of  form  ;  it  was  in  the  graces  of  manner  ;  in  a  new 
perception  of  Grecian  beauty,  to  which  he  had  opened 
our  eyes.  There  was  that  finish  about  this  person 
which  is  about  women,  and  which  distinguishes  every 
piece  of  genius  from  the  works  of  talent,  —  that  these 
last  are  more  or  less  matured  in  every  degree  of  com 
pleteness  according  to  the  time  bestowed  on  them,  but 
works  of  genius  in  their  first  and  slightest  form  are 
still  wholes.  In  every  public  discourse  there  was  noth 
ing  left  for  the  indulgence  of  his  hearer,  no  marks  of 
late  hours  and  anxious,  unfinished  study,  but  the  god 
dess  of  grace  had  breathed  on  the  work  a  last  fragrancy 
and  glitter. 

By  a  series  of  lectures  largely  and  fashionably  at 
tended  for  two  winters  in  Boston  he  made  a  beginning 
of  popular  literary  and  miscellaneous  lecturing,  which 
in  that  region  at  least  had  important  results.  It  is  ac 
quiring  greater  importance  every  day,  and  becoming  a 
national  institution.  I  am  quite  certain  that  this  purely 
literary  influence  was  of  the  first  importance  to  the 
American  mind. 

In  the  pulpit  Dr.  Frothingham,  an  excellent  classical 
and  German  scholar,  had  already  made  us  acquainted, 
if  prudently,  with  the  genius  of  Eichhorn's  theologic 
criticism.  And  Professor  Norton  a  little  later  gave 
form  and  method  to  the  like  studies  in  the  then  infant 


LIFE   AND   LETTERS   IN   NEW   ENGLAND.      261 

Divinity  School.  But  I  think  the  paramount  source  of 
the  religious  revolution  was  Modern  Science ;  beginning 
with  Copernicus,  who  destroyed  the  pagan  fictions  of 
the  Church,  by  showing  mankind  that  the  earth  on 
which  we  live  was  not  the  centre  of  the  Universe, 
around  which  the  sun  and  stars  revolved  every  day, 
and  thus  fitted  to  be  the  platform  on  which  the  Drama 
of  the  Divine  Judgment  was  played  before  the  assem 
bled  Angels  of  Heaven,  —  "  the  scaffold  of  the  divine 
vengeance  "  Saurin  called  it,  —  but  a  little  scrap  of  a 
planet,  rushing  round  the  sun  in  our  system,  which  in 
turn  was  too  minute  to  be  seen  at  the  distance  of  many 
stars  which  we  behold.  Astronomy  taught  us  our  in 
significance  in  Nature  ;  showed  that  our  sacred  as  our 
profane  history  had  been  written  in  gross  ignorance  of 
the  laws,  which  were  far  grander  than  we  knew  ;  and 
compelled  a  certain  extension  and  uplifting  of  our  views 
of  the  Deity  and  his  Providence.  This  correction  of 
our  superstitions  was  confirmed  by  the  new  science  of 
Geology,  and  the  whole  train  of  discoveries  in  every  de 
partment.  But  we  presently  saw  also  that  the  religious 
nature  in  man  was  not  affected  by  these  errors  in  his 
understanding.  The  religious  sentiment  made  nothing 
of  bulk  or  size,  or  far  or  near  ;  triumphed  over  time  as 
well  as  space  ;  and  every  lesson  of  humility,  or  justice, 
or  charity,  which  the  old  ignorant  saints  had  taught 
him,  was  still  forever  true. 

Whether  from  these  influences,  or  whether  by  a  re 
action  of  the  general  mind  against  the  too  formal 
science,  religion  and  social  life  of  the  earlier  period,  — 
there  was,  in  the  first  quarter  of  our  nineteenth  century, 
a  certain  sharpness  of  criticism,  an  eagerness  for  reform, 
which  showed  itself  in  every  quarter.  It  appeared  in 


262  HISTORIC   NOTES   OF 

the  popularity  of  Lavater's  Physiognomy,  now  almost 
forgotten.  Gall  and  Spurzheim's  Phrenology  laid  a 
rough  hand  on  the  mysteries  of  animal  and  spiritual 
nature,  dragging  down  every  sacred  secret  to  a  street 
show.  The  attempt  was  coarse  and  odious  to  scientific 
men,  but  had  a  certain  truth  in  it ;  it  felt  connection 
where  the  professors  denied  it,  and  was  a  leading  to  a 
truth  which  had  not  yet  been  announced.  On  the  heels 
of  this  intruder  came  Mesmerism,  which  broke  into  the 
inmost  shrines,  attempted  the  explanation  of  miracle 
and  prophecy,  as  well  as  of  creation.  What  could  be 
more  revolting  to  the  contemplative  philosopher  !  But 
a  certain  success  attended  it,  against  all  expectation. 
It  was  human,  it  was  genial,  it  affirmed  unity  and  con 
nection  between  remote  points,  and  as  such  was  excel 
lent  criticism  on  the  narrow  and  dead  classification  of 
what  passed  for  science  ;  and  the  joy  with  which  it  was 
greeted  was  an  instinct  of  the  people  which  no  true 
philosopher  would  fail  to  profit  by.  But  while  society 
remained  in  doubt  between  the  indignation  of  the  old 
school  and  the  audacity  of  the  new,  a  higher  note 
sounded.  Unexpected  aid  from  high  quarters  came  to 
iconoclasts.  The  German  poet  Goethe  revolted  against 
the  science  of  the  day,  against  French  and  English 
science,  declared  war  against  the  great  name  of  New 
ton,  proposed  his  own  new  and  simple  optics  :  in  bot 
any,  his  simple  theory  of  metamorphosis  ;  —  the  eye  of 
a  leaf  is  all  ;  every  part  of  the  plant  from  root  to  fruit 
is  only  a  modified  leaf,  the  branch  of  a  tree  is  nothing 
but  a  leaf  whose  serratures  have  become  twigs.  Ho 
extended  this  into  anatomy  and  animal  life,  and  his 
views  were  accepted.  The  revolt  became  a  revolution. 
Schelling  and  Oken  introduced  their  ideal  natural  phi< 


LIFE  AND  LETTERS  IN  NEW  ENGLAND.   263 

losophy,  Hegel  his  metaphysics,  and  extended  it  to  Civil 
History. 

The  result  in  literature  and  the  general  mind  was  a 
return  to  law  ;  in  science,  in  politics,  in  social  life  ;  as 
distinguished  from  the  profligate  manners  and  politics 
of  earlier  times.  The  age  was  moral.  Every  immo 
rality  is  a  departure  from  nature,  and  is  punished  by 
natural  loss  and  deformity.  The  popularity  of  Combe's 
Constitution  of  Man  ;  the  humanity  which  "was  the  aim 
of  all  the  multitudinous  works  of  Dickens  ;  the  tendency 
even  of  Punch's  caricature,  was  all  on  the  side  of  the 
people.  There  was  a  breath  of  new  air,  much  vague 
expectation,  a  consciousness  of  power  not  yet  finding  its 
determinate  aim. 

I  attribute  much  importance  to  two  papers  of  Dr. 
Channing,  one  on  Milton  and  one  on  Napoleon,  which 
were  the  first  specimens  in  this  country  of  that  large 
criticism  which  in  England  had  given  power  and  fame 
to  the  Edinburgh  Review.  They  were  widely  read,  and 
of  course  immediately  fruitful  in  provoking  emulation 
which  lifted  the  style  of  Journalism.  Dr.  Channing, 
whilst  he  lived,  was  the  star  of  the  American  Church, 
and  we  then  thought,  if  we  do  not  still  think,  that  he 
left  no  successor  in  the  pulpit.  He  could  never  be 
reported,  for  his  eye  and  voice  could  not  be  printed, 
and  his  discourses  lose  their  best  in  losing  them.  He 
was  made  for  the  public  ;  his  cold  temperament  made 
him  the  most  unprofitable  private  companion  ;  but  all 
America  would  have  been  impoverished  in  wanting  him. 
We  could  not  then  spare  a  single  word  he  uttered  in 
public,  not  so  much  as  the  reading  a  lesson  in  Scripture, 
or  a  hymn,  and  it  is  curious  that  his  printed  writings 
are  almost  a  history  of  the  times  ;  as  there  was  no  great 


264  HISTORIC   NOTES   OF 

public  interest,  political,  literary,  or  even  economical 
(for  he  wrote  on  the  Tariff),  on  which  he  did  not  leave 
some  printed  record  of  his  brave  and  thoughtful  opinion. 
A  poor  little  invalid  all  his  life,  he  is  yet  one  of  those 
men  who  vindicate  the  power  of  the  American  race  to 
produce  greatness. 

Dr.  Channing  took  counsel  in  1840  with  George  Rip- 
ley,  to  the  point  whether  it  were  possible  to  bring  cul 
tivated,  thoughtful  people  together,  and  make  society 
that  deserved  the  name.  He  had  earlier  talked  with 
Dr.  John  Collins  Warren  on  the  like  purpose,  who  ad 
mitted  the  wisdom  of  the  design  and  undertook  to  aid 
him  in  making  the  experiment.  Dr.  Chauiiing  repaired 
to  Dr.  Warren's  house  on  the  appointed  evening,  with 
large  thoughts  which  he  wished  to  open.  He  found 
a  well-chosen  assembly  of  gentlemen  variously  distin 
guished  ;  there  was  mutual  greeting  and  introduction, 
and  they  were  chatting  agreeably  on  indifferent  matters 
and  drawing  gently  towards  their  great  expectation, 
when  a  side-door  opened,  the  whole  company  streamed 
in  to  an  oyster  supper,  crowned  by  excellent  wines  ;  and 
so  ended  the  first  attempt  to  establish  aesthetic  society 
in  Boston. 

Some  time  afterwards  Dr.  Channing  opened  his  mind 
to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ripley,  and  with  some  care  they  in 
vited  a  limited  party  of  ladies  and  gentlemen.  I  had 
the  honor  to  be  present.  Though  I  recall  the  fact,  I  do 
not  retain  any  instant  consequence  of  this  attempt,  or 
any  connection  between  it  and  the  new  zeal  of  the 
friends  who  at  that  time  began  to  be  drawn  together 
by  sympathy  of  studies  and  of  aspiration.  Margaret 
Fuller,  George  Ripley,  Dr.  Convers  Francis,  Theodore 
Parker,  Dr.  Hedge,  Mr.  Brownson,  James  Freeman 


LIFE   AND   LETTERS   IN   NEW   ENGLAND.        265 

Clarke,  William  H.  Channing,  and  many  others,  grad 
ually  drew  together  and  from  time  to  time  spent  an  af 
ternoon  at  each  other's  houses  in  a  serious  conversation. 
With  them  was  always  one  well-known  form,  a  pure 
idealist,  not  at  all  a  man  of  letters,  nor  of  any  practical 
talent,  nor  a  writer  of  books  ;  a  man  quite  too  cold  and 
contemplative  for  the  alliances  of  friendship,  with  rare 
simplicity  and  grandeur  of  perception,  who  read  Plato 
as  an  equal,  and  inspired  his  companions  only  in  pro 
portion  as  they  were  intellectual,  —  whilst  the  men  of 
talent  complained  of  the  want  of  point  and  precision  in 
this  abstract  and  religious  thinker. 

These  fine  conversations,  of  course,  were  incompre 
hensible  to  some  in  the  company,  and  they  had  their 
revenge  in  their  little  joke.  One  declared  that  "It 
seemed  to  him  like  going  to  heaven  in  a  swing  ; "  an 
other  reported  that,  at  a  knotty  point  in  the  discourse, 
a  sympathizing  Englishman  with  a  squeaking  voice  in 
terrupted  with  the  question,  "  Mr.  Alcott,  a  lady  near 
me  desires  to  inquire  whether  omnipotence  abnegates 
attribute  ?  " 

I  think  there  prevailed  at  that  time  a  general  belief 
in  Boston  that  there  was  some  concert  of  doctrinaires  to 
establish  certain  opinions  and  inaugurate  some  move 
ment  in  literature,  philosophy  and  religion,  of  which 
design  the  supposed  conspirators  were  quite -innocent  ; 
for  there  was  no  concert,  and  only  here  and  there  two 
or  three  men  or  women  who  read  and  wrote,  each  alone, 
with  unusual  vivacity.  Perhaps  they  only  agreed  in  hav 
ing  fallen  upon  Coleridge  and  Wordsworth  and  Goethe, 
then  on  Carlyle,  with  pleasure  and  sympathy.  Other 
wise,  their  education  and  reading  were  not  marked,  but 
had  the  American  superficialness,  and  their  studies 


266  HISTORIC   NOTES  OF 

were  solitary.  I  suppose  all  of  them  were  surprised  at 
this  rumor  of  a  school  or  sect,  and  certainly  at  the  name 
of  Transcendentalism,  given  nobody  knows  by  whom,  or 
when  it  was  first  applied.  As  these  persons  became  in 
the  common  chances  of  society  acquainted  with  each 
other,  there  resulted  certain  strong  friendships,  which 
of  course  were  exclusive  in  proportion  to  their  heat : 
and  perhaps  those  persons  who  wefe  mutually  the  best 
friends  were  the  most  private  and  had  no  ambition  of 
publishing  their  letters,  diaries,  or  conversation. 

From  that  time  meetings  were  held  for  conversation, 
with  very  little  form,  from  house  to  house,  of  people 
engaged  in  studies,  fond  of  books,  and  watchful  of  all 
the  intellectual  light  from  whatever  quarter  it  flowed. 
Nothing  could  be  less  formal,  yet  the  intelligence  and 
character  and  varied  ability  of  the  company  gave  it 
some  notoriety  and  perhaps  waked  curiosity  as  to  its 
aims  and  results. 

Nothing  more  serious  came  of  it  than  the  modest 
quarterly  journal  called  "  The  Dial  "  which,  under  the 
editorship  of  Margaret  Fuller,  and  later  of  some  other, 
enjoyed  its  obscurity  for  four  years.  All  its  papers 
were  unpaid  contributions,  and  it  was  rather  a  work  of 
friendship  among  the  narrow  circle  of  students  than  the 
organ  of  any  party.  Perhaps  its  writers  were  its  chief 
readers  :  yet  it  contained  some  noble  papers  by  Mar 
garet  Fuller,  and  some  numbers  had  an  instant  exhaust 
ing  sale,  because  of  papers  by  Theodore  Parker. 

Theodore  Parker  was  our  Savonarola,  an  excellent 
scholar,  in  frank  and  affectionate  communication  with 
the  best  minds  of  his  day,  yet  the  tribune  of  the  people, 
and  the  stout  Reformer  to  urge  and  defend  every  cause 
of  humanity  with  and  for  the  humblest  of  mankind. 


LIFE  AND  LETTERS  IN  NEW  ENGLAND.   267 

He  was  no  artist.  Highly  refined  persons  might  easily 
miss  in  him  the  element  of  beauty.  What  he  said  was 
mere  fact,  almost  offended  you,  so  bald  and  detached  ; 
little  cared  he.  He  stood  altogether  for  practical  truth  , 
and  so  to  the  last.  He  used  every  day  and  hour  of  his 
short  life,  and  his  character  appeared  in  the  last  mo 
ments  with  the  same  firm  control  as  in  the  mid-day  of 
strength.  I  habitually  apply  to  him  the  words  of  a 
French  philosopher  who  speaks  of  "  the  man  of  Nature 
who  abominates  the  steam-engine  and  the  factory.  His 
vast  lungs  breathe  independence  with  the  air  of  the 
mountains  and  the  woods." 

The  vulgar  politician  disposed  of  this  circle  cheaply  as 
"  the  sentimental  class."  State  Street  had  an  instinct 
that  they  invalidated  contracts  and  threatened  the  sta 
bility  of  stocks  ;  and  it  did  not  fancy  brusque  manners. 
Society  always  values,  even  in  its  teachers,  inoffensive 
people,  susceptible  of  conventional  polish.  The  clergy 
man  who  would  live  in  the  city  may  have  piety,  but 
must  have  taste,  whilst  there  was  often  coming,  among 
these,  some  John  the  Baptist,  wild  from  the  woods, 
rude,  hairy,  careless  of  dress  and  quite  scornful  of  the 
etiquette  of  cities.  There  was  a  pilgrim  in  those  days 
walking  in  the  country  who  stopped  at  every  door  where 
he  hoped  to  find  hearing  for  his  doctrine,  which  was, 
Never  to  give  or  receive  money.  He  was  a  poor  prin 
ter,  and  explained  with  simple  warmth  the  belief  of 
himself  and  five  or  six  young  men  with  whom  he  agreed 
in  opinion,  of  the  vast  mischief  of  our  insidious  coin. 
He  thought  every  one  should  labor  at  some  necessary 
product,  and  as  soon  as  he  had  made  more  than  enough 
for  himself,  were  it  corn,  or  paper,  or  cloth,  or  boot 
jacks,  he  should  give  of  the  commodity  to  any  appli- 


268  HISTORIC  NOTES   OF 

cant,  and  in  turn  go  to  his  neighbor  for  any  article 
which  he  had  to  spare.  Of  course  we  were  curious  to 
know  how  he  sped  in  his  experiments  on  the  neighbor, 
and  his  anecdotes  were  interesting,  and  often  highly 
creditable.  But  he  had  the  courage  which  so  stern  a 
return  to  Arcadian  manners  required,  and  had  learned 
to  sleep,  in  cold  nights,  when  the  fanner  at  whose  door 
he  knocked  declined  to  give  him  a  bed,  on  a  wagon 
covered  with  the  buffalo-robe  under  the  shed,  —  or  un 
der  the  stars,  when  the  farmer  denied  the  shed  and  the 
buffalo-robe.  I  think  he  persisted  for  two  years  in  his 
brave  practice,  but  did  not  enlarge  his  church  of  be 
lievers. 

These  reformers  were  a  new  class.  Instead  of  the 
fiery  souls  of  the  Puritans,  bent  on  hanging  the  Quaker, 
burning  the  witch  and  banishing  the  Romanist,  these 
were  gentle  souls,  with  peaceful  and  even  with  genial 
dispositions,  casting  sheep's  eyes  even  on  Fourier  and 
his  houris.  It  was  a  time  when  the  air  was  full  of  re 
form.  Robert  Owen  of  Lanark  came  hither  from  Eng 
land  in  1845,  and  read  lectures  or  held  conversations 
wherever  he  found  listeners  ;  the  most  amiable,  san 
guine  and  candid  of  men.  He  had  not  the  least  doubt 
that  he  had  hit  on  a  right  and  perfect  socialism,  or  that 
all  mankind  would  adopt  it.  He  was  then  seventy 
years  old,  and  being  asked,  "  Well,  Mr.  Owen,  who  is 
your  disciple  ?  How  many  men  are  there  possessed  of 
your  views  who  will  remain  after  you  are  gone,  to  put 
them  in  practice  ?  "  "  Not  one,"  was  his  reply.  Rob 
ert  Owen  knew  Fourier  in  his  old  age.  He  said  that 
Fourier  learned  of  him  all  the  truth  he  had ;  the  rest  of 
his  system  was  imagination,  and  the  imagination  of  a 
banker.  Owen  made  the  best  impression  by  bis  rare 


LIFE  AND  LETTERS  IN  NEW  ENGLAND.       269 

benevolence.  His  love  of  men  made  us  forget  his 
"Three  Errors."  His  charitable  construction  of  men 
and  their  actions  was  invariable.  He  was  the  better 
Christian  in  his  controversy  with  Christians,  and  he  in 
terpreted  with  great  generosity  the  act*  of  the  "  Holy 
Alliance,"  and  Prince  Metternich,  with  whom  the  per 
severing  doctrinaire  had  obtained  interviews  ;  "  Ah,"  he 
said,  "  you  may  depend  on  it  there  are  as  tender  hearts 
and  as  much  good  will  to  serve  men,  in  palaces,  as  in 
colleges." 

And  truly  I  honor  the  generous  ideas  of  the  Socialists, 
the  magnificence  of  their  theories,  and  the  enthusiasm 
with  which  they  have  been  urged.  They  appeared  the 
inspired  men  of  their  time.  Mr.  Owen  preached  his 
doctrine  of  labor  and  reward,  with  the  fidelity  and  de 
votion  of  a  saint,  to  the  slow  ears  of  his  generation. 
Fourier,  almost  as  wonderful  an  example  of  the  mathe 
matical  mind  of  France  as  La  Place  or  Napoleon, 
turned  a  truly  vast  arithmetic  to  the  question  of  social 
misery,  and  has  put  men  under  the  obligation  which  a 
generous  mind  always  confers,  of  conceiving  magnificent 
hopes  and  making  great  demands  as  the  right  of  man. 
He  took  his  measure  of  that  which  all  should  and  might 
enjoy,  from  no  soup  -  society  or  charity  -  concert,  but 
from  the  refinements  of  palaces,  the  wealth  of  univer 
sities,  and  the  triumphs  of  artists.  He  thought  nobly. 
A  man  is  entitled  to  pure  air,  and  to  the  air  of  good 
conversation  in  his  bringing  up,  and  not,  as  we  or  so 
many  of  us,  to  the  poor-smell  and  musty  chambers, 
cats  and  fools.  Fourier  carried  a  whole  French  Revo 
lution  in  his  head,  and  much  more.  Here  was  arith 
metic  on  a  huge  scale.  His  ciphering  goes  where  cipher 
ing  never  went  before,  namely,  into  stars,  atmospheres, 


270  HISTORIC  NOTES  OF 

and  animals,  and  men  and  women,  and  classes  of  every 
character.  It  was  the  most  entertaining  of  French  ro 
mances,  and  could  not  but  suggest  vast  possibilities  of 
reform  to  the  coldest  and  least  sanguine. 

We  had  afl  opportunity  of  learning  something  of 
these  Socialists  and  their  theory,  from  the  indefatigable 
apostle  of  the  sect  in  New  York,  Albert  Brisbane.  Mr. 
Brisbane  pushed  his  doctrine  with  all  the  force  of  mem 
ory,  talent,  honest  faith  and  importunacy.  As  we  list 
ened  to  his  exposition  it  appeared  to  us  the  sublime  of 
mechanical  philosophy  ;  for  the  system  was  the  perfec 
tion  of  arrangement  and  contrivance.  The  force  of  ar 
rangement  could  no  farther  go.  The  merit  of  the  plan 
was  that  it  was  a  system  ;  that  it  had  not  the  partiality 
and  hint  -  and  -  fragment  character  of  most  popular 
schemes,  but  was  coherent  and  comprehensive  of  facts 
to  a  wonderful  degree.  It  was  not  daunted  by  distance, 
or  magnitude,  or  remoteness  of  any  sort,  but  strode 
about  nature  with  a  giant's  step,  and  skipped  no  fact, 
but  wove  its  large  Ptolemaic  web  of  cycle  and  epicycle, 
of  phalanx  and  phalanstery,  with  laudable  assiduity. 
Mechanics  were  pushed  so  far  as  fairly  to  meet  spirit 
ualism.  One  could  not  but  be  struck  with  strange  co 
incidences  betwixt  Fourier  and  Swedenborg.  Genius 
hitherto  has  been  shamefully  misapplied,  a  mere  trifler. 
It  must  now  set  itself  to  raise  the  social  condition  of  man 
and  to  redress  the  disorders  of  the  planet  he  inhabits. 
The  Desert  of  Sahara,  the  Campagna  di  Roma,  the 
frozen  Polar  circles,  which  by  their  pestilential  or  hot 
or  cold  airs  poison  the  temperate  regions,  accuse  man. 
Society,  concert,  co-operation,  is  the  secret  of  the  com 
ing  Paradise.  By  reason  of  the  isolation  of  men  at  the 
present  day,  all  work  is  drudgery.  By  concert  and  the 


LIFE  AND  LETTERS  IN  NEW  ENGLAND.   271 

allowing  each  laborer  to  choose  his  own  work,  it  be 
comes  pleasure.  "  Attractive  Industry  "  would  speedily 
subdue,  by  adventurous  scientific  and  persistent  tillage, 
the  pestilential  tracts  ;  would  equalize  temperature, 
give  health  to  the  globe  and  cause  the  earth  to  yield 
"  healthy  imponderable  fluids  "  to  the  solar  system,  as 
now  it  yields  noxious  fluids.  The  hyaena,  the  jackal, 
the  gnat,  the  bug,  the  flea,  were  all  beneficent  parts  of 
the  system  ;  the  good  Fourier  knew  what  those  creat 
ures  should  have  been,  had  not  the  mould  slipped, 
through  the  bad.  state  of  the  atmosphere  ;  caused  no 
doubt  by  the  same  vicious  imponderable  fluids.  All 
these  shall  be  redressed  by  human  culture,  and  the  use 
ful  goat  and  dog  and  innocent  poetical  moth,  or  the 
wood  -  tick  to  consume  decomposing  wood,  shall  take 
their  place.  It  takes  sixteen  hundred  and  eighty  men 
to  make  one  Man,  complete  in  all  the  faculties  ;  that  is, 
to  be  sure  that  you  have  got  a  good  joiner,  a  good  cook, 
a  barber,  a  poet,  a  judge,  an  umbrella-maker,  a  mayor 
and  alderman,  and  so  on.  '  Your  community  should  con 
sist  of  two  thousand  persons,  to  prevent  accidents  of 
omission ;  and  each  community  should  take  up  six 
thousand  acres  of  land.  Now  fancy  the  earth  planted 
with  fifties  and  hundreds  of  these  phalanxes  side  by 
side,  —  what  tillage,  what  architecture,  what  refectories, 
what  dormitories,  what  reading-rooms,  what  concerts, 
what  lectures,  what  gardens,  what  baths  !  What  is  not 
in  one  will  be  in  another,  and  many  will  be  within  easy 
distance.  Then  know  you  one  and  all,  that  Constanti 
nople  is  the  natural  capital  of  the  globe.  There,  in  the 
Golden  Horn,  will  the  Arch-Phalanx  be  established  ; 
there  will  the  Omniarch  reside.  Aladdin  and  his  ma 
gician,  or  the  beautiful  Scheherezade  can  alone,  in  these 


272  HISTORIC  NOTES   OF 

prosaic  times  before  the  sight,  describe  the  material 
splendors  collected  there.  Poverty  shall  be  abolished  ; 
deformity,  stupidity  and  crime  shall  be  no  more.  Gen 
ius,  grace,  art,  shall  abound,  and  it  is  not  to  be  doubted 
but  that  in  the  reign  of  "  Attractive  Industry  "  all  men 
will  speak  in  blank  verse. 

Certainly  we  listened  with  great  pleasure  to  such  gay 
and  magnificent  pictures.  The  ability  and  earnestness 
of  the  advocate  and  his  friends,  the  comprehensiveness 
of  their  theory,  its  apparent  directness  of  proceeding  to 
the  end  they  would  secure,  the  indignation  they  felt 
and  uttered  in  the  presence  of  so  much  social  misery, 
commanded  our  attention  and  respect.  It  contained  so 
much  truth,  and  promised  in  the  attempts  that  shall  be 
made  to  realize  it  so  much  valuable  instruction,  that  we 
are  engaged  to  observe  every  step  of  its  progress.  Yet 
in  spite  of  the  assurances  of  its  friends  that  it  was  new 
and  widely  discriminated  from  all  other  plans  for  the 
regeneration  of  society,  we  could  not  exempt  it  from 
the  criticism  which  we  apply  to  so  many  projects  for 
reform  with  which  the  brain  of  the  age  teems.  Our 
feeling  was  that  Fourier  had  skipped  no  fact  but  one, 
namely  Life.  He  treats  man  as  a  plastic  thing,  some 
thing  that  may  be  put  up  or  down,  ripened  or  retarded, 
moulded,  polished,  made  into  solid  or  fluid  or  gas,  at  the 
will  of  the  leader  ;  or  perhaps  as  a  vegetable,  from 
which,  though  now  a  poor  crab,  a  very  good  peach  can 
by  manure  and  exposure  be  in  time  produced,  —  but 
skips  the  faculty  of  life,  which  spawns  and  scorns  sys 
tem  and  system-makers  ;  which  eludes  all  conditions  ; 
which  makes  or  supplants  a  thousand  phalanxes  and 
New  Harmonies  with  each  pulsation.  There  is  an  order 
in  which  in  a  sound  mind  the  faculties  always  appear, 


LIFE  AND   LETTERS  IN   NEW   ENGLAND.        273 

and  which,  according  to  the  strength  of  the  individual, 
they  seek  to  realize  in  the  surrounding  world.  The 
value  of  Fourier's  system  is  that  it  is  a  statement  of 
such  an  order  externized,  or  carried  outward  into  its 
correspondence  in  facts.  The  mistake  is  that  this  par 
ticular  order  and  series  is  to  be  imposed,  by  force  or 
preaching  and  votes,  on  all  men,  and  carried  into  rigid 
execution.  But  what  is  true  and  good  must  not  only 
be  begun  by  life,  but  must  be  conducted  to  its  issues  by 
life.  Could  not  the  conceiver  of  this  design  have  also 
believed  that  a  similar  model  lay  in  every  mind,  and 
that  the  method  of  each  associate  might  be  trusted,  as 
well  as  that  of  his  particular  Committee  and  General 
Office,  No.  200  Broadway  ?  Nay,  that  it  would  be  bet 
ter  to  say,  Let  us  be  lovers  and  servants  of  that  which 
is  just,  and  straightway  every  man  becomes  a  centre  of 
a  holy  and  beneficent  republic,  which  he  sees  to  include 
all  men  in  its  law,  like  that  of  Plato,  and  of  Christ. 
Before  such  a  man  the  whole  world  becomes  Fourier- 
ized  or  Christized  or  humanized,  and  in  obedience  to 
his  most  private  being  he  finds  himself,  according  to  his 
presentiment,  though  against  all  sensuous  probability, 
acting  in  strict  concert  with  all  others  who  followed 
their  private  light. 

Yet,  in  a  day  of  small,  sour  and  fierce  schemes,  one  is 
admonished  and  cheered  by  a  project  of  such  friendly 
aims  and  of  such  bold  and  generous  proportion  ;  there 
is  an  intellectual  courage  and  strength  in  it  which  is  su 
perior  and  commanding  ;  it  certifies  the  presence  of  so 
much  truth  in  the  theory,  and  in  so  far  is  destined  to  be 
fact. 

It  argued  singular  courage,  the  adoption  of  Fourier's 
system,  to  even  a  limited  extent,  with  his  books  lying 
18 


274  HISTORIC   NOTES   OF 

before  the  world  only  defended  by  the  thin  veil  of  the 
French  language.  The  Stoic  said,  Forbear  :  Fourier 
said,  Indulge.  Fourier  was  of  the  opinion  of  St.  Evre- 
mond  ;  abstinence  from  pleasure  seemed  to  him  a  great 
sin.  Fourier  was  very  French  indeed.  He  labored  un 
der  a  misapprehension  of  the  nature  of  women.  The 
Fourier  marriage  was  a  calculation  how  to  secure  the 
greatest  amount  of  kissing  that  the  infirmity  of  human 
constitution  admitted.  It  was  false  and  prurient,  full 
of  absurd  French  superstitions  about  women  ;  ignorant 
how  serious  and  how  moral  their  nature  always  is  ;  how 
chaste  is  their  organization  ;  how  lawful  a  class. 

It  is  the  worst  of  community  that  it  must  inevitably 
transform  into  charlatans  the  leaders,  by  the  endeavor 
continually  to  meet  the  expectation  and  admiration  of 
this  eager  crowd  of  men  and  women  seeking  they  know 
not  what.  Unless  he  have  a  Cossack  roughness  of  clear 
ing  himself  of  what  belongs  not,  charlatan  he  must  be. 

It  was  easy  to  see  what  must  be  the  fate  of  this  fine 
system  in  any  serious  and  comprehensive  attempt  to  set 
it  on  foot  in  this  country.  As  soon  as  our  people  got 
wind  of  the  doctrine  of  Marriage  held  by  this  master,  it 
would  fall  at  once  into  the  hands  of  a  lawless  crew  who 
would  flock  in  troops  to  so  fair  a  game,  and,  like  the 
dreams  of  poetic  people  on  the  first  outbreak  of  the  old 
French  Revolution,  so  theirs  would  disappear  hi  a  slime 
of  mire  and  blood. 

There  is  of  course  to  every  theory  a  tendency  to  run 
to  an  extreme,  and  to  forget  the  limitations.  In  our 
free  institutions,  where  every  man  is  at  liberty  to  choose 
his  home  and  his  trade,  and  all  possible  modes  of  work 
ing  and  gaining  are  open  to  him,  fortunes  are  easily 
made  by  thousands,  as  in  no  other  country.  Then  prop- 


LIFE  AND  LETTERS  IN  NEW  ENGLAND.   275 

erty  proves  too  much  for  the  man,  and  the  men  of  sci 
ence,  art,  intellect,  are  pretty  sure  to  degenerate  into 
selfish  housekeepers,  dependent  on  wine,  coffee,  fur 
nace-heat,  gas-light  and  fine  furniture.  Then  instantly 
things  swing  the  other  way,  and  we  suddenly  find  that 
civilization  crowed  too  soon  ;  that  what  we  bragged  as 
triumphs  were  treacheries  :  that  we  have  opened  the 
wrong  door  and  let  the  enemy  into  the  castle  ;  that  civ 
ilization  was  a  mistake  ;  that  nothing  is  so  vulgar  as  a 
great  warehouse  of  rooms  full  of  furniture  and  trump 
ery  ;  that,  in  the  circumstances,  the  best  wisdom  were 
an  auction  or  a  fire.  Since  the  foxes  and  the  birds  have 
the  right  of  it,  with  a  warm  hole  to  keep  out  the 
weather,  and  no  more,  —  a  pent-house  to  fend  the  sun 
and  rain  is  the  house  which  lays  no  tax  on  the  owner's 
time  and  thoughts,  and  which  he  can  leave,  when  the 
sun  is  warm,  and  defy  the  robber.  This  was  Thoreau's 
doctrine,  who  said  that  the  Fourierists  had  a  sense  of 
duty  which  led  them  to  devote  themselves  to  their  sec 
ond-best.  And  Thoreau  gave  in  flesh  and  blood  and 
pertinacious  Saxon  belief  the  purest  ethics.  He  was 
more  real  and  practically  believing  in  them  than  any 
of  his  company,  and  fortified  you  at  all  times  with  an 
affirmative  experience  which  refused  to  be  set  aside. 
Thoreau  was  in  his  own  person  a  practical  answer,  al 
most  a  refutation,  to  the  theories  of  the  socialists.  He 
required  no  Phalanx,  no  Government,  no  society,  almost 
no  memory.  He  lived  extempore  from  hour  to  hour, 
like  the  birds  and  the  angels  ;  brought  every  day  a  new 
proposition,  as  revolutionary  as  that  of  yesterday,  but 
different  :  the  only  man  of  leisure  in  his  town  ;  and  his 
independence  made  all  others  look  like  slaves.  He  was 
a  good  Abbot  Sampson,  and  carried  a  counsel  in  hia 


276  HISTORIC  NOTES   OF 

breast.  "  Again  and  again  I  congratulate  myself  on  my 
so-called  poverty,  I  could  not  overstate  this  advantage." 
"  What  you  call  bareness  and  poverty,  is  to  me  simplic 
ity.  God  could  not  be  unkind  to  me  if  he  should  try. 
I  love  best  to  have  each  thing  in  its  season  only,  and 
enjoy  doing  without  it  at  all  other  times.  It  is  the 
greatest  of  all  advantages  to  enjoy  no  advantage  at  all. 
I  have  never  got  over  my  surprise  that  I  should  have 
been  born  into  the  most  estimable  place  in  all  the  world, 
and  in  the  very  nick  of  time  too."  There  's  an  optimist 
for  you. 

I  regard  these  philanthropists  as  themselves  the 
effects  of  the  age  in  which  we  live,  and,  in  common  with 
so  many  other  good  facts,  the  efflorescence  of  the  period, 
and  predicting  a  good  fruit  that  ripens.  They  were 
not  the  creators  they  believed  themselves,  but  they  were 
unconscious  prophets  of  a  true  state  of  society  ;  one 
which  the  tendencies  of  nature  lead  unto,  one  which 
always  establishes  itself  for  the  sane  soul,  though  not  in 
that  manner  in  which  they  paint  it  ;  but  they  were  de- 
scribers  of  that  which  is  really  being  done.  The  large 
cities  are  phalansteries  ;  and  the  theorists  drew  all  their 
argument  from  facts  already  taking  place  in  our  expe 
rience.  The  cheap  way  is  to  make  every  man  do  what 
he  was  born  for.  One  merchant  to  whom  I  described 
the  Fourier  project,  thought  it  must  not  only  succeed, 
but  that  agricultural  association  must  presently  fix  the 
price  of  bread,  and  drive  single  farmers  into  association 
of  self-defence,  as  the  great  commercial  and  manufac 
turing  companies  had  done.  Society  in  England  and 
in  America  is  trying  the  experiment  again  in  small 
pieces,  in  co-operative  associations,  in  cheap  eating- 
houses,  as  well  as  in  the  economies  of  club-houses  and 
in  cheap  reading-rooms. 


LIFE  AND  LETTERS  IN  NEW  ENGLAND.   277 

It  chanced  that  here  in  one  family  were  two  brothers, 
one  a  brilliant  and  fertile  inventor,  and  close  by  him 
his  own  brother,  a  man  of  business,  who  knew  how  to 
direct  his  faculty  and  make  it  instantly  and  perma 
nently  lucrative.  Why  could  not  the  like  partnership 
be  formed  between  the  inventor  and  the  man  of  execu 
tive  talent  everywhere  ?  Each  man  of  thought  is  sur 
rounded  by  wiser  men  than  he,  if  they  cannot  write  as 
well.  Cannot  he  and  they  combine  ?  Talents  supple 
ment  each  other.  Beaumont  and  Fletcher  and  many 
French  novelists  have  known  how  to  utilize  such  part 
nerships.  Why  not  have  a  larger  one,  and  with  more 
various  members  ? 

Housekeepers  say,  "  There  are  a  thousand  things  to 
everything,"  and  if  one  must  study  all  the  strokes  to 
be  laid,  all  the  faults  to  be  shunned  in  a  building  or 
work  of  art,  of  its  keeping,  its  composition,  its  site,  its 
color,  there  would  be  no  end.  But  the  architect,  a<ft- 
ing  under  a  necessity  to  build  the  house  for  its  purpose, 
finds  himself  helped,  he  knows  not  how,  into  all  these 
merits  of  detail,  and  steering  clear,  though  in  the  dark, 
of  those  dangers  which  might  have  shipwrecked  him. 

BROOK    FARM. 

The  West  Roxbury  association  was  formed  in  1841, 
by  a  society  of  members,  men  and  women,  who  bought 
a  farm  in  West  Roxbury,  of  about  two  hundred  acres, 
and  took  possession  of  the  place  in  April.  Mr.  George 
Ripley  was  the  President,  and  I  think  Mr.  Charles 
Dana  (afterwards  well  known  as  one  of  the  editors 
of  the  New  York  Tribune),  was  the  secretary.  Many 
members  took  shares  by  paying  money,  others  held 
shares  by  their  labor.  An  old  house  on  the  place  was 


278  HISTORIC   NOTES   OF 

enlarged,  and  three  new  houses  built.  William  Allen 
was  at  first  and  for  some  time  the  head  farmer,  and  the 
work  was  distributed  in  orderly  committees  to  the  men 
and  women.  There  were  many  employments  more  or 
less  lucrative  found  for,  or  brought  hither  by  these 
members,  —  shoemakers,  joiners,  sempstresses.  They 
had  good  scholars  among  them,  and  so  received  pupils 
for  their  education.  The  parents  of  the  children  in 
some  instances  wished  to  live  there,  and  were  received 
as  boarders.  Many  persons  attracted  by  the  beauty  of 
the  pLice  and  the  culture  and  ambition  of  the  commu 
nity,  joined  them  as  boarders,  and  lived  there  for  years. 
I  think  the  numbers  of  this  mixed  community  soon 
reached  eighty  or  ninety  souls. 

It  was  a  noble  and  generous  movement  in  the  pro 
jectors,  to  try  an  experiment  of  better  living.  They 
had  the  feeling  that  our  ways  of  living  were  too  con- 
^ntional  and  expensive,  not  allowing  each  to  do  what 
he  had  a  talent  for,  and  not  permitting  men  to  combine 
cultivation  of  mind  and  heart  with  a  reasonable  amount 
of  daily  labor.  At  the  same  time,  it  was  an  attempt  to 
lift  others  with  themselves,  and  to  share  the  advantages 
they  should  attain,  with  others  now  deprived  of  them. 

There  was  no  doubt  great  variety  of  character  and 
purpose  in  the  members  of  the  community.  It  consisted 
in  the  mam  of  young  people,  —  few  of  middle  age,  and 
none  old.  Those  who  inspired  and  organized  it  were  of 
course  persons  impatient  of  the  routine,  the  uniformity, 
perhaps  they  would  say,  the  squalid  contentment  of 
society  around  them,  which  was  so  timid  and  skeptical 
of  any  progress.  One  would  say  then  that  impulse  was 
the  rule  in  the  society,  without  centripetal  balance  ; 
perhaps  it  would  not  be  severe  to  say,  intellectual  sans- 


LIFE   AND   LETTERS   IN   NEW   ENGLAND.        279 

culottism,  an  impatience  of  the  formal,  routinary  charac 
ter  of  our  educational,  religious,  social  and  economical 
life  in  Massachusetts.  Yet  there  was  immense  hope  in 
these  young  people.  There  was  nobleness  ;  there  were 
self-sacrificing  victims  who  compensated  for  the  levity 
and  rashness  of  their  companions.  The  young  people 
lived  a  great  deal  in  a  short  time,  and  came  forth  some 
of  them  perhaps  with  shattered  constitutions.  And  a 
few  grave  sanitary  influences  of  character  were  happily 
there,  which,  I  was  assured,  were  always  felt. 

George  W.  Curtis  of  New  York,  and  his  brother,  of 
English  Oxford,  were  members  of  the  family  from  the 
first.  Theodore  Parker,  the  near  neighbor  of  the  farm 
and  the  most  intimate  friend  of  Mr.  Ripley,  was  a  fre 
quent  visitor.  Mr.  Ichabod  Morton  of  Plymouth,  a  plain 
man  formerly  engaged  through  many  years  in  the  fish 
eries  with  success,  —  eccentric,  with  a  persevering  in 
terest  in  Education,  and  of  a  very  democratic  religion, 
came  and  built  a  house  on  the  farm,  and  he,  or  members 
of  his  family,  continued  there  to  the  end.  Margaret 
Fuller,  with  her  joyful  conversation  and  large  sym 
pathy,  was  often  a  guest,  and  always  in  correspondence 
with  her  friends.  Many  ladies,  whom  to  name  were 
to  praise,  gave  character  and  varied  attraction  to  the 
place. 

In  and  around  Brook  Farm,  whether  as  members, 
boarders,  or  visitors,  were  many  remarkable  persons,  for 
character,  intellect,  or  accomplishments.  I  recall  one 
youth  of  the  subtlest  mind,  —  I  believe  I  must  say  the 
subtlest  observer  and  diviner  of  character  I  ever  met,  — 
living,  reading,  writing,  talking  there,  perhaps  as  long 
as  the  colony  held  together  ;  his  mind  fed  and  overfed 
by  whatever  is  exalted  in  genius,  whether  in  Poetry  or 


280  HISTORIC  NOTES   OF 

Art,  in  Drama  or  Music,  or  in  social  accomplishment 
and  elegancy  ;  a  man  of  no  employment  or  practical 
aims,  a  student  and  philosopher,  who  found  his  daily 
enjoyment  not  with  the  elders  or  his  exact  contempora 
ries  so  much  as  with  the  fine  boys  who  were  skating 
and  playing  ball  or  bird-hunting  ;  forming  the  closest 
friendships  with  such,  and  finding  his  delight  in  the 
petulant  heroisms  of  boys  ;  yet  was  he  the  chosen  coun 
sellor  to  whom  the  guardians  would  repair  on  any  hitch 
or  difficulty  that  occurred,  and  draw  from  him  a  wise 
counsel.  A  fine,  subtle,  inward  genius,  puny  in  body 
and  habit  as  a  girl,  yet  with  an  aplomb  like  a  general, 
never  disconcerted.  He  lived  and  thought,  in  1842, 
such  worlds  of  life  ;  all  hinging  on  the  thought  of  Be 
ing  or  Reality  as  opposed  to  consciousness  ;  hating  in 
tellect  with  the  ferocity  of  a  Swedenborg.  He  was  the 
Abbe  or  spiritual  father,  from  his  religious  bias.  His 
reading  lay  in  ^schylus,  Plato,  Dante,  Calderon,  Shak- 
speare,  and  in  modern  novels  and  romances  of  merit. 
There  too  was  Hawthorne,  with  his  cold  yet  gentle 
genius,  if  he  failed  to  do  justice  to  this  temporary 
home.  There  was  the  accomplished  Doctor  of  Music, 
who  has  presided  over  its  literature  ever  since  in  our 
metropolis.  Rev.  William  Henry  Channing,  now  of 
London,  was  from  the  first  a  student  of  Socialism  in 
France  and  England,  and  in  perfect  sympathy  with 
this  experiment.  An  English  baronet,  Sir  John  Cald- 
well,  was  a  frequent  visitor,  and  more  or  less  directly 
interested  in  the  leaders  and  the  success. 

Hawthorne  drew  some  sketches,  not  happily,  as  I 
think  ;  I  should  rather  say,  quite  unworthy  of  his  genius. 
No  friend  who  knew  Margaret  Fuller  could  recognize 
her  rich  and  brilliant  genius  under  the  dismal  mask 


LIFE   AND   LETTERS   IN  NEW   ENGLAND.        281 

which  the  public  fancied  was  meant  for  her  in  that  disa 
greeable  story. 

The  Founders  of  Brook  Farm  should  have  this  praise, 
that  they  made  what  all  people  try  to  make,  an  agree 
able  place  to  live  in.  All  comers,  even  the  most  fas 
tidious,  found  it  the  pleasantest  of  residences.  It  is 
certain  that  freedom  from  household  routine,  variety 
of  character  and  talent,  variety  of  work,  variety  of 
means  of  thought  and  instruction,  art,  music,  poetry, 
reading,  masquerade,  did  not  permit  sluggishness  or 
despondency ;  broke  up  routine.  There  is  agreement 
in  the  testimony  that  it  was,  to  most  of  the  asso 
ciates,  education  ;  to  many,  the  most  important  period 
of  their  life,  the  birth  of  valued  friendships,  their  first 
acquaintance  with  the  riches  of  conversation,  their  train 
ing  in  behavior.  The  art  of  letter-writing,  it  is  said, 
was  immensely  cultivated.  Letters  were  always  flying 
not  only  from  house  to  house,  but  from  room  to  room. 
It  was  a  perpetual  picnic,  a  French  Revolution  in  small, 
an  Age  of  Reason  in  a  patty-pan. 

In  the  American  social  communities,  the  gossip  found 
such  vent  and  sway  as  to  become  despotic.  The  insti 
tutions  were  whispering-galleries,  in  which  the  adored 
Saxon  privacy  was  lost.  Married  women  I  believe  uni 
formly  decided  against  the  community.  It  was  to  them 
like  the  brassy  and  lacquered  life  in  hotels.  The  com 
mon  school  was  well  enough,  but  to  the  common  nur 
sery  they  had  grave  objections.  Eggs  might  be  hatched 
in  ovens,  but  the  hen  on  her  own  account  much  pre 
ferred  the  old  way.  A  hen  without  her  chickens  was 
but  half  a  hen. 

It  was  a  curious  experience  of  the  patrons  and  leaders 
of  this  noted  community,  in  which  the  agreement  with 


282  HISTORIC   NOTES   OF 

many  parties  was  that  they  should  give  so  many  hours 
of  instruction  in  mathematics,  in  music,  in  moral  arid 
intellectual  philosophy,  and  so  forth,  —  that  in  every  in 
stance  the  new  comers  showed  themselves  keenly  alive 
to  the  advantages  of  the  society,  and  were  sure  to  avail 
themselves  of  every  means  of  instruction  ;  their  knowl 
edge  was  increased,  their  manners  refined,  —  but  they 
became  in  that  proportion  averse  to  labor,  and  were 
charged  by  the  heads  of  the  departments  with  a  certain 
indolence  and  selfishness. 

In  practice  it  is  always  found  that  virtue  is  occa 
sional,  spotty,  and  not  linear  or  cubic.  Good  people  are 
as  bad  as  rogues  if  steady  performance  is  claimed  ;  the 
conscience  of  the  conscientious  runs  in  veins,  and  the 
most  punctilious  in  some  particulars  are  latitudinarian 
in  others.  It  was  very  gently  said  that  people  on  whom 
beforehand  all  persons  would  put  the  utmost  reliance 
were  not  responsible.  They  saw  the  necessity  that  the 
work  must  be  done,  and  did  it  not,  and  it  of  course  fell 
to  be  done  by  the  few  religious  workers.  No  doubt 
there  was  in  many  a  certain  strength  drawn  from  the 
fury  of  dissent.  Thus  Mr.  Ripley  told  Theodore  Parker, 

"  There  is  your  accomplished  friend :  he  would  hoe 

corn  all  Sunday  if  I  would  let  him,  but  all  Massachu 
setts  could  not  make  him  do  it  on  Monday." 

Of  course  every  visitor  found  that  there  was  a  comic 
side  to  this  Paradise  of  shepherds  and  shepherdesses. 
There  was  a  stove  in  every  chamber,  and  every  one 
might  burn  as  much  wood  as  he  or  she  would  saw.  The 
ladies  took  cold  on  washing  -  day  ;  so  it  was  ordained 
that  the  gentlemen-shepherds  should  wring  and  hang 
out  clothes  ;  which  they  punctually  did.  And  it  would 
sometimes  occur  that  when  they  danced  in  the  evening 


LIFE  AND  LETTERS  IN  NEW  ENGLAND.   283 

elothes  -  pins  dropped  plentifully  from  their  pockets. 
The  country  members  naturally  were  surprised  to  ob 
serve  that  one  man  ploughed  all  day  and  one  looked 
out  of  the  window  all  day.  and  perhaps  drew  his  pic 
ture,  and  both  received  at  night  the  same  wages.  One 
would  meet  also  some  modest  pride  in  their  advanced 
condition,  signified  by  a  frequent  phrase,  "  Before  we 
Came  out  of  civilization." 

The  question  which  occurs  to  you  had  occurred  much 
earlier  to  Fourier  :  "  How  in  this  charming  Elysium  is 
the  dirty  work  to  be  done  ? "  And  long  ago  Fourier 
had  exclaimed,  "  Ah  !  I  have  it,"  and  jumped  with  joy. 
"  Don't  you  see,"  he  cried,  "  that  nothing  so  delights  the 
young  Caucasian  child  as  dirt  ?  See  the  mud-pies  that 
all  children  will  make  if  you  will  let  them.  See  how 
much  more  joy.  they  find  in  pouring  their  pudding  on 
the  table-cloth  than  into  their  beautiful  mouths.  The 
children  from  six  to  eight,  organized  into  companies 
with  flags  and  uniforms,  shall  do  this  last  function  of 
civilization." 

In  Brook  Farm  was  this  peculiarity,  that  there  was 
no  head.  In  every  family  is  the  father  ;  in  every  fac 
tory,  a  foreman  ;  in  a  shop,  a  master ;  in  a  boat,  the 
skipper  ;  but  in  this  Farm,  no  authority  ;  each  was 
master  or  mistress  of  his  or  her  actions  ;  happy,  hapless 
anarchists.  They  expressed,  after  much  perilous  ex 
perience,  the  conviction  that  plain  dealing  was  the  best 
defence  of  manners  and  moral  between  the  sexes.  Peo 
ple  cannot  live  together  in  any  but  necessary  ways. 
The  only  candidates  who  will  present  themselves  will 
be  those  who  have  tried  the  experiment  of  independ 
ence  and  ambition,  and  have  failed  ;  and  none  others 
will  barter  for  the  most  comfortable  equality  the  chance 


284  HISTORIC   NOTES   OF 

of  superiority.  Then  all  communities  have  quarrelled. 
Few  people  can  live  together  on  their  merits.  There 
must  be  kindred,  or  mutual  economy,  or  a  common  ii> 
terest  in  their  business,  or  other  external  tie. 

The  society  at  Brook  Farm  existed,  I  think,  about  six 
or  seven  years,  and  then  broke  up,  the  Farm  was  sold, 
and  I  believe  all  the  partners  came  out  with  pecuniary 
loss.  Some  of  them  had  spent  on  it  the  accumulations 
of  years.  I  suppose  they  all,  at  the  moment,  regarded 
it  as  a  failure.  I  do  not  think  they  can  so  regard  it 
now,  but  probably  as  an  important  chapter  in  their  ex 
perience  which  has  been  of  lifelong  value.  What  knowl 
edge  of  themselves  and  of  each  other,  what  various 
practical  wisdom,  what  personal  power,  what  studies  of 
character,  what  accumulated  culture  many  of  the  mem-, 
bers  owed  to  it !  What  mutual  measure  they  took  of 
each  other  !  It  was  a  close  union,  like  that  in  a  ship's 
cabin,  of  clergymen,  young  collegians,  merchants,  me 
chanics,  farmers'  sons  and  daughters,  with  men  and 
women  of  rare  opportunities  and  delicate  culture,  yet 
assembled  there  by  a  sentiment  which  all  shared,  some 
of  them  hotly  shared,  of  the  honesty  of  a  life  of  labor 
and  of  the  beauty  of  a  life  of  humanity.  The  yeoman 
saw  refined  manners  in  persons  who  were  his  friends  ; 
and  the  lady  or  the  romantic  scholar  saw  the  continuous 
strength  and  faculty  in  people  who  would  have  dis 
gusted  them  but  that  these  powers  were  now  spent  in 
the  direction  of  their  own  theory  of  life. 

I  recall  these  few  selected  facts,  none  of  them  of  much 
independent  interest,  but  symptomatic  of  the  times  and 
country.  I  please  myself  with  the  thought  that  our 
American  mind  is  not  now  eccentric  or  rude  in  its 
strength,  but  is  beginning  to  show  a  quiet  power,  drawn 


LIFE  AND  LETTERS  IN  NEW  ENGLAND.   285 

from  wide  and  abundant  sources,  proper  to  a  Continent 
and  to  an  educated  people.  If  I  have  owed  much  to 
the  special  influences  I  have  indicated,  I  am  not  less 
aware  of  that  excellent  and  increasing  circle  of  masters 
in  arts  and  in  song  and  in  science,  who  cheer  the  in 
tellect  of  our  cities  and  this  country  to-day,  —  whose 
genius  is  not  a  lucky  accident,  but  normal,  and  with 
broad  foundation  of  culture,  and  so  inspires  the  hope 
of  steady  strength  advancing  on  itself,  and  a  day  with 
out  night. 


THE  CHARDON  STREET  CONVEN 
TION. 


THE    CHARDON    STREET    CONVEN 
TION.1 


IN  the  month  of  November,  1840,  a  Convention  of 
Friends  of  Universal  Reform  assembled  in  the  Char- 
don  Street  Chapel  in  Boston,  in  obedience  to  a  call  in 
the  newspapers,  signed  by  a  few  individuals,  inviting 
all  persons  to  a  public  discussion  of  the  institutions 
of  the  Sabbath,  the  Church  and  the  Ministry.  The 
Convention  organized  itself  by  the  choice  of  Edmund 
Quincy  as  Moderator,  spent  three  days  in  the  consider 
ation  of  the  Sabbath,  and  adjourned  to  a  day  in  March 
of  the  following  year,  for  the  discussion  of  the  second 
topic.  In  March,  accordingly,  a  three-days'  sessions 
was  holden  in  the  same  place,  on  the  subject  of  the 
Church,  and  a  third  meeting  fixed  for  the  following 
November,  which  was  accordingly  holden  ;  and  the 
Convention  debated,  for  three  days  again,  the  remain 
ing  subject  of  the  Priesthood.  This  Convention  never 
printed  any  report  of.  its  deliberations,  nor  pretended 
to  arrive  at  any  result  by  the  expression  of  its  sense  in 
formal  resolutions  ;  —  the  professed  objects  of  those 
persons  who  felt  the  greatest  interest  in  its  meetings 
being  simply  the  elucidation  of  truth  through  free  dis 
cussion.  The  daily  newspapers  reported,  at  the  time, 

1  The  IHal,  vol.  iii.,  p.  100. 
19 


290       THE  CHARDON  STREET   CONVENTION. 

brief  sketches  of  the  course  of  proceedings,  and  the 
remarks  of  the  principal  speakers.  These  meetings 
attracted  a  great  deal  of  public  attention,  and  were 
spoken  of  in'  different  circles  in  every  note  of  hope,  of 
sympathy,  of  joy,  of  alarm,  of  abhorrence  and  of  merri 
ment.  The  composition  of  the  assembly  was  rich  and 
various.  The  singularity  and  latitude  of  the  summons 
drew  together,  from  all  parts  of  New  England  and  also 
from  the  Middle  States,  men  of  every  shade  of  opinion 
from  the  straitest  orthodoxy  to  the  wildest  heresy,  and 
many  persons  whose  church  was  a  church  of  one  mem 
ber  only.  A  great  variety  of  dialect  and  of  costume 
was  noticed  ;  a  great  deal  of  confusion,  eccentricity,  and 
freak  appeared,  as  well  as  of  zeal  and  enthusiasm.  If 
the  assembly  was  disorderly,  it  was  picturesque.  Mad 
men,  madwomen,  men  with  beards,  Bunkers,  Muggle- 
tonians,  Come-outers,  Groaners,  Agrarians,  Seventh-day- 
Baptists,  Quakers,  Abolitionists,  Calvinists,  Unitarians 
and  Philosophers,  —  all  came  successively  to  the  top, 
and  seized  their  moment,  if  not  their  hour,  wherein  to 
chide,  or  pray,  or  preach,  or  protest.  The  faces  were  a 
study.  The  most  daring  innovators  and  the  champions- 
until-death  of  the  old  cause  sat  side  by  side.  The  still- 
living  merit  of  the  oldest  New  England  families,  glow 
ing  yet  after  several  generations,  encountered  the 
founders  of  families,  fresh  merit,  emerging,  and  ex 
panding  the  brows  to  a  new  breadth,  and  lighting  a 
clownish  face  with  sacred  fire.  The  assembly  was  char 
acterized  by  the  predominance  of  a  certain  plain,  sylvan 
strength  and  earnestness,  whilst  many  of  the  most  in 
tellectual  and  cultivated  persons  attended  its  councils. 
Dr.  C  banning,  Edward  Taylor,  Bronson  Alcott,  Mr. 
Garrison,  Mr.  May,  Theodore  Parker,  H.  C.  Wright, 


THE  CHARDON   STREET   CONVENTION.      291 

Dr.  Osgood,  William  Adams,  Edward  Palmer,  Jones 
Very,  Maria  W.  Chapman,  and  many  other  persons  of 
a  mystical  or  sectarian  or  philanthropic  renown,  were 
present,  and  some  of  them  participant.  And  there  was 
no  want  of  female  speakers  ;  Mrs.  Little  and  Mrs.  Lucy 
Sessions  took  a  pleasing  and  memorable  part  in  the 
debate,  and  that  flea  of  Conventions,  Mrs.  Abigail  Fol- 
som,  was  but  too  ready  with  her  interminable  scroll. 
If  there  was  not  parliamentary  order,  there  was  life, 
and  the  assurance  of  that  constitutional  love  for  relig 
ion  and  religious  liberty  which,  in  all  periods,  charac 
terizes  the  inhabitants  of  this  part  of  America. 

There  was  a  great  deal  of  wearisome  speaking  in 
each  of  those  three-days'  sessions,  but  relieved  by  sig 
nal  passages  of  pure  eloquence,  by  much  vigor  of 
thought,  and  especially  by  the  exhibition  of  character, 
and  by  the  victories  of  character.  These  men  and  wo 
men  were  in  search  of  something  better  and  more 
satisfying  than  a  vote  or  a  definition,  and  they  found 
what  they  sought,  or  the  pledge  of  it,  in  the  attitude 
taken  by  individuals  of  their  number  of  resistance  to 
the  insane  routine  of  parliamentary  usage  ;  in  the  lofty 
reliance  on  principles,  and  the  prophetic  dignity  and 
transfiguration  which  accompanies,  even  amidst  opposi 
tion  and  ridicule,  a  man  whose  mind  is  made  up  to 
obey  the  great  inward  Commander,  and  who  does  not 
anticipate  his  own  action,  but  awaits  confidently  the 
new  emergency  for  the  new  counsel.  By  no  means  the 
least  value  of  this  Convention,  in  our  eye,  was  the  scope 
it  gave  to  the  genius  of  Mr.  Alcott,  and  not  its  least 
instructive  lesson  was  the  gradual  but  sure  ascendency 
of  his  spirit,  in  spite  of  the  incredulity  and  derision  with 
which  he  is  at  first  received,  and  in  spite,  we  might  add, 


292       THE   CHARDON   STREET    CONVENTION. 

of  his  own  failures.  Moreover,  although  no  decision 
was  had,  and  no  action  taken  on  all  the  great  points 
mooted  in  the  discussion,  yet  the  Convention  brought 
together  many  remarkable  persons,  face  to  face,  and 
gave  occasion  to  memorable  interviews  and  conversa 
tions,  in  the  hall,  in  the  lobbies,  or  around  the  doors. 


EZRA  RIPLEY,  D.  D. 


WE  love  the  venerable  house 

Our  fathers  built  to  God : 
In  Heaven  are  kept  their  grateful  vows, 

Their  dust  endears  the  sod. 

From  humble  tenements  around 

Came  up  the  pensive  train 
And  in  the  church  a  blessing  found 

That  filled  their  homes  again. 


fii  ^L/^^^-1'  ^    k 


0^'/f     d^^ik 


EZRA  RIPLEY,  D.  D.1 


EZRA  RIPLEY  was  born  May  1, 1751  (O.  S.),  at 
Woodstock,  Connecticut.  He  was  the  fifth  of  the  nine 
teen  children  of  Noah  and  Lydia  (Kent)  Rlpley.  Sev 
enteen  of  these  nineteen  children  married,  and  it  is 
stated  that  the  mother  died  leaving  nineteen  children, 
one  hundred  and  two  grandchildren  and  ninety -six 
great-grandchildren.  The  father  was  born  at  Hing- 
ham,  on  the  farm  purchased  by  his  ancestor,  William 
Ripley,  of  England,  at  the  first  settlement  of  the  town  ; 
which  farm  has  been  occupied  by  seven  or  eight  gener 
ations.  Ezra  Ripley  followed  the  business  of  farming 
till  sixteen  years  of  age,  when  his  father  wished  him  to 
be  qualified  to  teach  a  grammar  school,  not  thinking 
himself  able  to  send  one  son  to  college  without  injury 
to  his  other  children.  With  this  view,  the  father  agreed 
with  the  late  Rev.  Dr.  Forbes  of  Gloucester,  then  min 
ister  of  North  Brookfield,  to  fit  Ezra  for  college  by  the 
time  he  should  be  twenty-one  years  of  age,  and  to  have 

1  This  sketch  was  written  for  the  Social  Circle,  a  club  in  Concord 
now  more  than  a  century  old,  and  said  to  be  the  lineal  descendant  of 
the  Committee  of  Safety  in  the  Revolution.  Mr.  Emerson  was  a  mem 
ber  for  many  years  and  greatly  valued  its  weekly  evening  meetings, 
held,  during  the  winter,  at  the  houses  of  the  members.  After  the 
death  of  Dr.  Ripley,  an  early  member  and  connected  with  him  by  mar 
riage,  Mr.  Emerson  was  asked  to  prepare  the  customary  Memoir  for 
the  Club  Book. 


296  EZRA  RIPLEY,   D.   D. 

him  labor  during  the  time  sufficiently  to  pay  for  his  in 
struction,  clothing  and  books. 

But,  when  fitted  for  college,  the  son  could  not  be 
contented  with  teaching,  which  he  had  tried  the  preced 
ing  winter.  He  had  early  manifested  a  desire  for  learn 
ing,  and  could  not  be  satisfied  without  a  public  educa 
tion.  Always  inclined  to  notice  ministers,  and  fre 
quently  attempting,  when  only  five  or  six  years  old,  to 
imitate  them  by  preaching,  now  that  he  had  become  a 
professor  of  religion  he  had  an  ardent  desire  to  be  a 
preacher  of  the  gospel.  He  had  to  encounter  great  dif 
ficulties,  but,  through  a  kind  providence  and  the  patron 
age  of  Dr.  Forbes,  he  entered  Harvard  University,  July, 
1772.  The  commencement  of  the  Revolutionary  War 
greatly  interrupted  his  education  at  college.  In  1775, 
in  his  senior  year,  the  college  was  removed  from  Cam 
bridge  to  this  town.  The  studies  were  much  broken 
up.  Many  of  the  students  entered  the  army,  and  the 
class  never  returned  to  Cambridge.  There  were  an  un 
usually  large  number  of  distinguished  men  in  this  class 
of  1776  :  Christopher  Gore,  Governor  of  Massachusetts 
and  Senator  in  Congress  ;  Samuel  Sewall,  Chief  Justice 
of  Massachusetts  ;  George  Thacher,  Judge  of  the  Su 
preme  Court  ;  Royall  Tyler,  Chief  Justice  of  Vermont ; 
and  the  late  learned  Dr.  Prince,  of  Salem. 

Mr.  Ripley  was  ordained  minister  of  Concord  No 
vember  7,  1778.  He  married,  November  16,  1780, 
Mrs.  Phoebe  (Bliss)  Emerson,  then  a  widow  of  thirty- 
nine,  with  five  children.  They  had  three  children  : 
Samuel,  born  May  11,  1783  ;  Daniel  Bliss,  born  August 
1,  1784 ;  Sarah,  born  April  8,  1789.  He  died  Septem 
ber  21,  1841. 

To  these  facts,  gathered  chiefly  from  his  own  diary, 


EZRA   RIPLEY,   D.   D.  297 

and  stated  nearly  in  his  own  words,  I  can  only  add  a 
few  traits  from  memory. 

He  was  identified  with  the  ideas  and  forms  of  the 
New  England  Church,  which  expired  about  the  same 
time  with  him,  so  that  he  and  his  coevals  seemed  the 
rear  guard  of  the  great  camp  and  army  of  the  Puri 
tans,  which,  however  in  its  last  days  declining  into 
formalism,  in  the  heyday  of  its  strength  had  planted 
and  liberated  America.  It  was  a  pity  that  his  old  meet 
ing-house  should  have  been  modernized  in  his  time.  I 
am  sure  all  who  remember  both  will  associate  his  form 
with  whatever  was  grave  and  droll  in  the  old,  cold,  un- 
painted,  uncarpeted,  square-pewed  meeting-house,  with 
its  four  iron-gray  deacons  in  their  little  box  under  the 
pulpit,  —  with  Watts's  hymns,  with  long  prayers,  rich 
with  the  diction  of  ages  ;  and  not  less  with  the  report 
like  musketry  from  the  movable  seats.  He  and  his  con 
temporaries,  the  old  New  England  clergy,  were  be 
lievers  in  what  is  called  a  particular  providence,  —  cer 
tainly,  as  they  held  it,  a  very  particular  providence,  — 
following  the  narrowness  of  King  David  and  the  Jews, 
who  thought  the  universe  existed  only  or  mainly  for 
their  church  and  congregation.  Perhaps  I  cannot  bet 
ter  illustrate  this  tendency  than  by  citing  a  record  from 
the  diary  of  the  father  of  his  predecessor,1  the  minister 
of  Maiden,  written  in  the  blank  leaves  of  the  almanac 
for  the  year  1735.  The  minister  writes  against  Janu 
ary  31st  :  "  Bought  a  shay  for  27  pounds,  10  shillings. 
The  Lord  grant  it  may  be  a  comfort  and  blessing  to 
my  family."  In  March  following  he  notes  :  "  Had  a 
safe  and  comfortable  journey  to  York."  But  April 
24th,  we  find  :  "  Shay  overturned,  with  my  wife  and  I 
1  Rev.  Joseph  Emerson. 


298  EZRA   RIPLEY,   D.    D. 

in  it,  yet  neither  of  us  much  hurt.  Blessed  be  our  gra-r 
cious  Preserver.  Part  of  the  shay,  as  it  lay  upon  one 
side,  went  over  my  wife,  and  yet  she  was  scarcely  any 
thing  hurt.  How  wonderful  the  preservation."  Then 
again,  May  5th  :  "  Went  to  the  beach  with  three  of  the 
children.  The  beast,  being  frightened  when  we  were 
all  out  of  the  shay,  overturned  and  broke  it.  I  desire 
(I  hope  I  desire  it)  that  the  Lord  would  teach  me  suita 
bly  to  repent  this  Providence,  to  make  suitable  remarks 
on  it,  and  to  be  suitably  affected  with  it.  Have  I  done 
well  to  get  me  a  shay  ?  Have  I  not  been  proud  or  too 
fond  of  this  convenience  ?  Do  I  exercise  the  faith  in 
the  Divine  care  and  protection  which  I  ought  to  do  ? 
Should  I  not  be  more  in  my  study  and  less  fond  of  di 
version  ?  Do  I  not  withhold  more  than  is  meet  from 
pious  and  charitable  uses  ?  "  Well,  on  15th  May  we 
have  this  :  "  Shay  brought  home  ;  mending  cost  thirty 
shillings.  Favored  in  this  respect  beyond  expectation." 
16th  May  :  "  My  wife  and  I  rode  together  to  Rumney 
Marsh.  The  beast  frighted  several  times."  And  at 
last  we  have  this  record,  June  4th  :  "  Disposed  of  my 
shay  to  Rev.  Mr.  White." 

The  same  faith  made  what  was  strong  and  what  was 
weak  in  Dr.  Ripley  and  his  associates.  He  was  a  per 
fectly  sincere  man,  punctual,  severe,  but  just  and  char 
itable,  and  if  he  made  his  forms  a  strait-jacket  to  oth 
ers,  he  wore  the  same  himself  all  his  years.  Trained 
in  this  church,  and  very  well  qualified  by  his  natural 
talent  to  work  in  it,  it  was  never  out  of  his  mind.  He 
looked  at  every  person  and  thing  from  the  parochial 
point  of  view.  I  remember,  when  a  boy,  driving  about 
Concord  with  him,  and  in  passing  each  house  he  told  the 
story  of  the  family  that  lived  in  it,  and  especially  he 


EZRA   RIPLEY,    D.    D.  299 

gave  me  anecdotes  of  the  nine  church  members  who  had 
made  a  division  in  the  church  in  the  time  of  his  prede 
cessor,  and  showed  me  that  every  one  of  the  nine  had 
come  to  bad  fortune  or  to  a  bad  end.  His  prayers 
for  rain  and  against  the  lightning,  "that  it  may  not 
lick  up  our  spirits  ; "  and  for  good  weather  ;  and  against 
sickness  and  insanity  ;  "  that  we  have  not  been  tossed  to 
and  fro  until  the  dawning  of  the  day,  that  we  have  not 
been  a  terror  to  ourselves  and  others  ; "  are  well  re 
membered,  and  his  own  entire  faith  that  these  petitions 
were  not  to  be  overlooked,  and  were  entitled  to  a  favor 
able  answer.  Some  of  those  around  me  will  remember 
one  occasion  of  severe  drought  in  this  vicinity,  when  the 
late  Rev.  Mr.  Goodwin  offered  to  relieve  the  Doctor  of 
the  duty  of  leading  in  prayer  ;  but  the  Doctor  suddenly 
remembering  the  season,  rejected  his  offer  with  some 
humor,  as  with  an  air  that  said  to  all  the  congrega 
tion,  "  This  is  no  time  for  you  young  Cambridge  men  ; 
the  affair,  sir,  is  getting  serious.  I  will  pray  myself." 
One  August  afternoon,  when  I  was  in  his  hayfield  helping 
him  with  his  man  to  rake  up  his  hay,  I  well  remember 
his  pleading,  almost  reproachful  looks  at  the  sky,  when 
the  thunder  gust  was  coming  up  to  spoil  his  hay.  He 
raked  veiy  fast,  then  looked  at  the  cloud,  and  said, "  We 
are  in  the  Lord's  hand  ;  mind  your  rake,  George  !  We 
are  in  the  Lord's  hands  ; "  and  seemed  to  say,  "  You 
know  me  ;  this  field  is  mine,  —  Dr.  Ripley's,  —  thine 
own  servant  !  " 

He  used  to  tell  the  story  of  one  of  his  old  friends, 
the  minister  of  Sudbury,  who,  being  at  the  Thursday 
lecture  in  Boston,  heard  the  officiating  clergyman  pray 
ing  for  rain.  As  soon  as  the  service  was  over,  he  went 
to  the  petitioner,  and  said,  "  You  Boston  ministers,  as 


800  EZRA  RIPLEY,   D.   D. 

soon  as  a  tulip  wilts  under  your  windows,  go  to  church 
and  pray  for  rain,  until  all  Concord  and  Sudbury  are 
under  water."  I  once  rode  with  him  to  a  house  at  Nine 
Acre  Corner  to  attend  the  funeral  of  the  father  of  a 
family.  He  mentioned  to  me  on  the  way  his  fears  that 
the  oldest  son,  who  was  now  to  succeed  to  the  farm, 
was  becoming  intemperate.  We  presently  arrived,  and 
the  Doctor  addressed  each  of  the  mourners  separately: 
"  Sir,  I  condole  with  you."  "  Madam,  I  condole  with 
you."  "  Sir,  I  knew  your  great-grandfather.  When  I 
came  to  this  town,  your  great-grandfather  was  a  sub 
stantial  farmer  in  this  very  place,  a  member  of  the 
church,  and  an  excellent  citizen.  Your  grandfather 
followed  him,  and  was  a  virtuous  man.  Now  your 
father  is  to  be  carried  to  his  grave,  full  of  labors  and 
virtues.  There  is  none  of  that  large  family  left  but 
you,  and  it  rests  with  you  to  bear  up  the  good  name 
and  usefulness  of  your  ancestors.  If  you  fail,  —  Icha- 
bod,  the  glory  is  departed.  Let  us  pray."  Right  manly 
he  was,  and  the  manly  thing  he  could  always  say.  I 
can  remember  a  little  speech  he  made  to  me,  when  the 
last  tie  of  blood  which  held  me  and  my  brothers  to  his 
house  was  broken  by  the  death  of  his  daughter.  He 
said,  on  parting,  "  I  wish  you  and  your  brothers  to  come 
to  this  house  as  you  have  always  done.  You  will  not 
like  to  be  excluded  ;  I  shall  not  like  to  be  neglected." 
When  "  Put  "  Merriam,  after  his  release  from  the 
state  prison,  had  the  effrontery  to  call  on  the  doctor  as 
an  old  acquaintance,  in  the  midst  of  general  conversa 
tion  Mr.  Frost  came  in,  and  the  Doctor  presently  said, 
"  Mr.  Merriam,  my  brother  and  colleague,  Mr.  Frost, 
has  come  to  take  tea  with  me.  I  regret  very  much  the 
causes  (which  you  know  very  well)  which  make  it  iin« 


EZRA  RIPLEY,   D.   D.  301 

possible  for  me  to  ask  you  to  stay  and  break  bread 
with  us."  With  the  Doctor's  views  it  was  a  matter  of 
religion  to  say  thus  much.  He  had  a  reverence  and 
love  of  society,  and  the  patient,  continuing  courtesy, 
carrying  out  every  respectful  attention  to  the  end, 
which  marks  what  is  called  the  manners  of  the  old 
school.  His  hospitality  obeyed  Charles  Lamb's  rule,  and 
"  ran  fine  to  the  last."  His  partiality  for  ladies  was 
always  strong,  and  was  by  no  means  abated  by  time. 
He  claimed  privilege  of  years,  was  much  addicted  to 
kissing  ;  spared  neither  maid,  wife,  nor  widow,  and,  as 
a  lady  thus  favored  remarked  to  me,  "  seemed  as  if  he 
was  going  to  make  a  meal  of  you." 

He  was  very  credulous,  and  as  he  was  no  reader  of 
books  or  journals,  he  knew  nothing  beyond  the  columns 
of  his  weekly  religious  newspaper,  the  tracts  of  his 
sect,  and  perhaps  the  Middlesex  Yeoman.  He  was  the 
easy  dupe  of  any  tonguey  agent,  whether  colonizationist 
or  anti-papist,  or  charlatan  of  iron  combs,  or  tractors, 
or  phrenology,  or  magnetism,  who  went  by.  At  the 
time  when  Jack  Downing's  letters  were  in  every  paper, 
he  repeated  to  me  at  table  some  of  the  particulars  of 
that  gentleman's  intimacy  with  General  Jackson,  in  a 
manner  that  betrayed  to  me  at  once  that  he  took  the 
whole  for  fact.  To  undeceive  him,  I  hastened  to  recall 
some  particulars  to  show  the  absurdity  of  the  thing,  as 
the  Major  and  the  President  going  out  skating  on  the 
Potomac,  etc.  "Why,"  said  the  Doctor  with  perfect 
faith,  "  it  was  a  bright  moonlight  night ; "  and  I  am 
not  sure  that  he  did  not  die  in  the  belief  in  the  real 
ity  of  Major  Downing.  Like  other  credulous  men,  he 
was  opinionative,  and,  as  I  well  remember,  a  great 
browbeater  of  the  poor  old  fathers  who  still  survived 


302  EZRA   RIPLEY,   D.    D. 

from  the  19th  of  April,  to  the  end  that  they  should 
testify  to  his  history  as  he  had  written  it. 

He  was  a  man  so  kind  and  sympathetic,  his  character 
was  so  transparent,  and  his  merits  so  intelligible  to  all 
observers,  that  he  was  very  justly  appreciated  in  this 
community.  He  was  a  natural  gentleman,  no  dandy, 
but  courtly,  hospitable,  manly,  and  public-spirited  ;  his 
nature  social,  his  house  ope  a  to  all  men.  We  remem 
ber  the  remark  made  by  the  old  farmer  who  used  to 
travel  hither  from  Maine,  that  no  horse  from  the  East 
ern  country  would  go  by  the  Doctor's  gate.  Travellers 
from  the  West  and  North  and  South  bear  the  like  tes 
timony.  His  brow  was  serene  and  open  to  his  visitor, 
for  he  loved  men,  and  he  had  no  studies,  no  occupations, 
which  company  could  interrupt.  His  friends  were  his 
study,  and  to  see  them  loosened  his  talents  and  his 
tongue.  In  his  house  dwelt  order  and  prudence  and 
plenty.  There  was  no  waste  and  no  stint.  He  was 
open-handed  and  just  and  generous.  Ingratitude  and 
meanness  in  his  beneficiaries  did  not  wear  out  his  com 
passion  ;  he  bore  the  insult,  and  the  next  day  his  basket 
for  the  beggar,  his  horse  and  chaise  for  the  cripple, 
were  at  their  door.  Though  he  knew  the  value  of  a 
dollar  as  well  as  another  man,  yet  he  loved  to  buy 
dearer  and  sell  cheaper  than  others.  He  subscribed  to 
all  charities,  and  it  is  no  reflection  on  others  to  say  that 
he  was  the  most  public-spirited  man  in  the  town.  The 
late  Dr.  Gardiner,  in  a  funeral  sermon  on  some  parish 
ioner  whose  virtues  did  not  readily  come  to  mind,  hon 
estly  said,  "He  was  good  at  fires."  Dr.  Ripley  had 
many  virtues,  and  yet  all  will  remember  that  even  in 
his  old  age,  if  the  fire-bell  was  rung,  he  was  instantly 
on  horseback  with  bis  buckets  and  bag. 


EZRA  RIPLEY,   D.    D.  303 

He  showed  even  in  his  fireside  discourse  traits  of  that 
pertinency  and  judgment,  softening  ever  and  anon  into 
elegancy,  which  make  the  distinction  of  the  scholar,  and 
which,  under  better  discipline,  might  have  ripened  into 
a  Bentley  or  a  Person.  Jle  had  a  foresight,  when  he 
opened  his  mouth,  of  all  that  he  would  say,  and  he 
inarched  straight  to  the  conclusion.  In  debate  in  the 
vestry  of  the  Lyceum,  the  structure  of  his  sentences 
was  admirable  ;  so  neat,  so  natural,  so  terse,  his  words 
fell  like  stones  ;  and  often,  though  quite  unconscious  of 
it,  his  speech  was  a  satire  on  the  loose,  voluminous,  drag 
gle-tail  periods  of  other  speakers.  He  sat  down  when 
he  had  done.  A  man  of  anecdote,  his  talk  in  the  parlor 
was  chiefly  narrative.  We  remember  the  remark  of  a 
gentleman  who  listened  with  much  delight  to  his  con 
versation  at  the  time  when  the  Doctor  was  preparing  to 
go  to  Baltimore  and  Washington,  that  "  a  man  who 
could  tell  a  story  so  well  was  company  for  kings  and 
Jolm  Quincy  Adams." 

Sage  and  savage  strove  harder  in  him  than  in  any  of 
my  acquaintances,  each  getting  the  mastery  by  turns, 
and  pretty  sudden  turns  :  "  Save  us  from  the  extremity 
of  cold  and  these  violent  sudden  changes."  "  The  soci 
ety  will  meet  after  the  Lyceum,  as  it  is  difficult  to  bring 
people  together  in  the  evening,  —  and  no  moon."  "  Mr. 
N.  F.  is  dead,  and  I  expect  to  hear  of  the  death  of  Mr. 
B.  It  is  cruel  to  separate  old  people  from  their  wives 
in  this  cold  weather." 

With  a  very  limited  acquaintance  with  books,  his 
knowledge  was  an  external  experience,  an  Indian  wis 
dom,  the  observation  of  such  facts  as  country  life  for 
nearly  a  century  could  supply.  He  watched  with  inter 
est  the  garden,  the  field,  the  orchard,  the  house  and 


304  EZRA   RIPLEY,    D.   D. 

the  barn,  horse,  cow,  sheep  and  dog,  and  all  the  common 
objects  that  engage  the  thought  of  the  farmer.  He 
kept  his  eye  on  the  horizon,  and  knew  the  weather  like 
a  sea-captain.  The  usual  experiences  of  men,  birth, 
marriage,  sickness,  death,  bugial ;  the  common  tempta 
tions  ;  the  common  ambitions  ;  —  he  studied  them  all, 
and  sympathized  so  well  in  these  that  he  was  excellent 
company  and  counsel  to  all,  even  the  most  humble  and 
ignorant.  With  extraordinary  states  of  mind,  with 
states  of  enthusiasm  or  enlarged  speculation,  he  had  no 
sympathy,  and  pretended  to  none.  He  was  sincere,  and 
kept  to  his  point,  and  his  mark  was  never  remote.  His 
conversation  was  strictly  personal  and  apt  to  the  party 
and  the  occasion.  An  eminent  skill  he  had  in  saying 
difficult  and  unspeakable  things  ;  in  delivering  to  a  man 
or  a  woman  that  which  all  their  other  friends  had  ab 
stained  from  saying,  in  uncovering  the  bandage  from  a 
sore  place,  and  applying  the  surgeon's  knife  with  a  truly 
surgical  spirit.  Was  a  man  a  sot,  or  a  spendthrift,  or 
too  long  time  a  bachelor,  or  suspected  of  some  liidden 
crime,  or  had  he  quarrelled  with  his  wife,  or  collared 
his  father,  or  was  there  any  cloud  or  suspicious  circum 
stances  in  his  behavior,  the  good  pastor  knew  his  way 
straight  to  that  point,  believing  himself  entitled  to  a  full 
explanation,  and  whatever  relief  to  the  conscience  of 
both  parties  plain  speech  could  effect  was  sure  to  be 
procured.  In  all  such  passages  he  justified  himself  to 
the  conscience,  and  commonly  to  the  love,  of  the  per 
sons  concerned.  He  was  the  more  competent  to  those 
searching  discourses  from  his  knowledge  of  family  his 
tory.  He  knew  everybody's  grandfather,  and  seemed 
to  address  each  person  rather  as  the  representative  of 
his  house  and  name,  than  as  an  individual.  In  him  have 


EZRA  RIPLEY,   D.   D.  305 

perished  more  local  and  personal  anecdotes  of  this  vil 
lage  and  vicinity  than  are  possessed  by  any  survivor. 
This  intimate  knowledge  of  families,  and  this  skill  of 
speech,  and  still  more,  his  sympathy,  made  him  incom 
parable  in  his  parochial  visits,  and  in  his  exhortations 
and  prayers.  He  gave  himself  up  to  his  feelings,  and 
said  on  the  instant  the  best  things  in  the  world.  Many 
and  many  a  felicity  he  had  in  his  prayer,  now  forever 
lost,  which  defied  all  the  rules  of  all  the  rhetoricians.  He 
did  not  know  when  he  was  good  in  prayer  or  sermon, 
for  he  had  no  literature  and  no  art ;  but  he  believed, 
and  therefore  spoke.  He  was  eminently  loyal  in  his 
nature,  and  not  fond  of  adventure  or  innovation.  By 
education,  and  still  more  by  temperament,  he  was  en 
gaged  to  the  old  forms  of  the  New  England  Church. 
Not  speculative,  but  affectionate  ;  devout,  but  with  an 
extreme  love  of  order,  he  adopted  heartily,  though  in  its 
mildest  form,  the  creed  and  catechism  of  the  fathers, 
and  appeared  a  modern  Israelite  in  his  attachment  to 
the  Hebrew  history  and  faith.  He  was  a  man  very  easy 
to  read,  for  his  whole  life  and  conversation  were  con 
sistent.  All  his  opinions  and  actions  might  be  securely 
predicted  by  a  good  observer  on  short  acquaintance. 
My  classmate  at  Cambridge,  Frederick  King,  told  me 
from  Governor  Gore,  who  was  the  Doctor's  classmate, 
that  in  college  he  was  called  Holy  Ripley. 

And  now,  in  his  old  age,  when  all  the  antique  Hebra-! 
ism  and  its  customs  are  passing  away,  it  is  fit  that  he 
too  should  depart,  —  most  fit  that  in  the  fall  of  laws  a 
loyal  man  should  die. 
20 


MARY  MOODY  EMERSON. 


THE  yesterday  doth  never  smile, 

To-day  goes  drudging  through  the  while, 

Yet  in  the  name  of  Godhead,  I 

The  morrow  front  and  can  defy ; 

Though  I  am  weak,  yet  God,  when  prayed, 

Cannot  withhold  his  conquering  aid. 

Ah  me  !  it  was  my  childhood's  thought, 

If  He  should  make  my  web  a  blot 

On  life's  fair  picture  of  delight, 

My  heart's  content  would  find  it  right. 

But  O,  these  waves  and  leaves,  — 

When  happy,  stoic  Nature  grieves,  — 

No  human  speech  so  beautiful 

As  their  murmurs  mine  to  lull. 

On  this  altar  God  hath  built 

I  lay  my  vanity  and  guilt ; 

Nor  me  can  Hope  or  Passion  urge, 

Hearing  as  now  the  lofty  dirge 

Which  blasts  of  Northern  mountains  hymn, 

Nature's  funeral  high  and  dim,  — 

Sable  pageantry  of  clouds, 

Mourning  summer  laid  in  shrouds. 

Many  a  day  shall  dawn  and  die, 

Many  an  angel  wander  by, 

And  passing,  light  my  sunken  turf, 

Moist  perhaps  by  ocean  surf, 

Forgotten  amid  splendid  tombs, 

Yet  wreathed  and  hid  by  summer  blooms. 

On  earth  I  dream  ;  —  I  die  to  be : 

Time  !  shake  not  thy  bald  head  at  me. 

I  challenge  thee  to  hurry  past, 

Or  for  my  turn  to  fly  too  fast. 


[  LUCY  PERCY,  Countess  of  Carlisle,  the  friend  of  Stratford  and  of 
Pym,  is  thus  described  by  Sir  Toby  Matthews :  ] 

"  She  is  of  too  high  a  mind  and  dignity  not  only  to  seek,  but  almost 
to  wish,  the  friendship  of  any  creature.  They  whom  she  is  pleased  to 
choose  are  such  as  are  of  the  most  eminent  condition  both  for  power 
and  employment,  —  not  with  any  design  towards  her  own  particular, 
either  of  advantage  or  curiosity,  but  her  nature  values  fortunate  per 
sons.  She  prefers  the  conversation  of  men  to  that  of  women  ;  not  but 
she  can  talk  on  the  fashions  with  her  female  friends,  but  she  is  too  soon 
sensible  that  she  can  set  them  as  she  wills  ;  that  preeminence  shortens 
all  equality.  She  converses  with  those  who  are  most  distinguished  for 
their  conversational  powers  Of  Love  freely  will  she  discourse,  listen 
to  all  its  faults  and  mark  its  power  :  and  will  take  a  deep  interest  for 
persons  of  celebrity." 


MARY  MOODY  EMERSON.1 


I  WISH  to  meet  the  invitation  with  which  the  ladies 
have  honored  me  by  offering  them  a  portrait  of  real 
life.  It  is  a  representative  life,  such  as  could  hardly 
have  appeared  out  of  New  England  ;  of  an  age  now 
past,  and  of  which  I  think  no  types  survive.  Perhaps 
I  deceive  myself  and  overestimate  its  interest.  It  has 
to  me  a  value  like  that  which  many  readers  find  in 
Madame  Guyon,  in  Rahel,  in  Eugenie  de  Guerin,  but  it 
is  purely  original  and  hardly  admits  of  a  duplicate. 
Then  it  is  a  fruit  of  Calvinism  and  New  England,  and 
marks  the  precise  time  when  the  power  of  the  old 
creed  yielded  to  the  influence  of  modern  science  and 
humanity. 

I  have  found  that  I  could  only  bring  you  this  por 
trait  by  selections  from  the  diary  of  my  heroine,  pre 
mising  a  sketch  of  her  time  and  place.  I  report  some 
of  the  thoughts  and  soliloquies  of  a  country  girl,  poor, 
solitary,  —  "a  goody "  as  she  called  herself,  —  growing 
from  youth  to  age  amid  slender  opportunities  and  usu 
ally  very  humble  company. 

1  Aunt  of  Mr.  Emerson,  and  a  potent  influence  on  the  lives  of  him 
and  his  brothers.  This  paper  was  read  before  the  "  Woman's  Club,"  in 
Boston,  hi  1869,  under  the  title  "Amita,"  which  was  also  the  original 
superscription  of  the  "Nun's  Aspiration,"  in  his  Poems;  a  rendering 
into  verse  of  a  passage  in  Miss  Emerson's  diary.  Part  of  this  poem 
forms  the  motto  of  this  chapter. 


310  MARY   MOODY    EMERSON. 

Mary  Moody  Emerson  was  born  just  before  the  out 
break  of  the  Revolution.  When  introduced  to  La 
fayette  at  Portland,  she  told  him  that  she  was  "  in 
arms  "  at  the  Concord  Fight.  Her  father,  the  minister 
of  Concord,  a  warm  patriot  in  1775,  went  as  a  chaplain 
to  the  American  army  at  Ticonderoga  :  he  carried  his 
infant  daughter,  before  he  went,  to  his  mother  in  Mai 
den  and  told  her  to  keep  the  child  until  he  returned. 
He  died  at  Rutland,  Vermont,  of  army-fever,  the  next 
year,  and  Mary  remained  at  Maiden  with  her  grand 
mother,  and,  after  her  death,  with  her  father's  sister,  in 
whose  house  she  grew  up,  rarely  seeing  her  brothers 
and  sisters  in  Concord.  This  aunt  and  her  husband 
lived  on  a  farm,  were  getting  old,  and  the  husband  a 
shiftless,  easy  man.  There  was  plenty  of  work  for  the 
little  niece  to  do  day  by  day,  and  not  always  bread 
enough  in  the  house. 

One  of  her  tasks,  it  appears,  was  to  watch  for  the  ap 
proach  of  the  deputy-sheriff,  who  might  come  to  confis 
cate  the  spoons  or  arrest  the  uncle  for  debt.  Later, 
another  aunt,  who  had  become  insane,  was  brought 
hither  to  end  her  days.  More  and  sadder  work  for  this 
young  girl.  She  had  no  companions,  lived  in  entire 
solitude  with  these  old  people,  very  rarely  cheered  by 
short  visits  from  her  brothers  and  sisters.  Her  mother 
had  married  again,  —  married  the  minister  who  suc 
ceeded  her  husband  in  the  parish  at  Concord,  [Dr.  Ezra 
Ripley,]  and  had  now  a  young  family  growing  up 
around  her. 

Her  aunt  became  strongly  attached  to  Mary,  and  per 
suaded  the  family  to  give  the  child  up  to  her  as  a 
daughter,  on  some  terms  embracing  a  care  of  her  future 
interests.  She  would  leave  the  farm  to  her  by  will. 


MARY  MOODY  EMERSON.  311 

This  promise  was  kept  ;  she  came  into  possession  of  the 
property  many  years  after,  and  her  dealings  with  it  gave 
her  no  small  trouble,  though  they  give  much  piquancy  to 
her  letters  in  after  years.  Finally  it  was  sold,  and  its 
price  invested  in  a  share  of  a  farm  in  Maine,  where  she 
lived  as  a  boarder  with  her  sister,  for  many  years.  It 
was  in  a  picturesque  country,  within  sight  of  the  White 
Mountains,  with  a  little  lake  in  front  at  the  foot  of  a 
high  hill  called  Bear  Mountain.  Not  far  from  the 
house  was  a  brook  running  over  a  granite  floor  like  the 
Franconia  Flume,  and  noble  forests  around.  Every 
word  she  writes  about  this  farm  ("  Elm  Vale,"  Water- 
ford),  her  dealings  and  vexations  about  it,  her  joys  and 
raptures  of  religion  and  Nature,  interest  like  a  romance, 
and  to  those  who  may  hereafter  read  her  letters,  will 
make  its  obscure  acres  amiable. 

In  Maiden  she  lived  through  all  her  youth  and  early 
womanhood,  with  the  habit  of  visiting  the  families  of 
her  brothers  and  sisters  on  any  necessity  of  theirs.  Her 
good  will  to  serve  in  time  of  sickness  or  of  pressure  was 
known  to  them,  and  promptly  claimed,  and  her  attach 
ment  to  the  youths  and  maidens  growing  up  in  those 
families  was  secure  for  any  trait  of  talent  or  of  charac 
ter.  Her  sympathy  for  young  people  who  pleased  her 
was  almost  passionate,  and  was  sure  to  make  her  arrival 
in  each  house  a  holiday. 

Her  early  reading  was  Milton,  Young,  Akenside,  Sam 
uel  Clarke,  Jonathan  Edwards,  and  always  the  Bible. 
Later,  Plato,  Plotinus,  Marcus  Antoninus,  Stewart,  Cole 
ridge,  Cousin,  Herder,  Locke,  Madame  De  Stael,  Chan- 
ning,  Mackintosh,  Byron.  Nobody  can  read  in  her 
manuscript,  or  recall  the  conversation  of  old -school 
people,  without  seeing  that  Milton  and  Young  had  a 


312  MARY   MOODY  EMERSON. 

religious  authority  in  their  mind,  and  nowise  the  slight, 
merely  entertaining  quality  of  modern  bards.  And 
Plato,  Aristotle,  Plotinus,  —  how  venerable  and  organic 
as  Nature  they  are  in  her  mind  !  What  a  subject  is  her 
mind  and  life  for  the  finest  novel  !  When  I  read  Dante, 
the  other  day,  and  his  paraphrases  to  signify  with  more 
adequateness  Christ  or  Jehovah,  whom  do  you  think  I 
was  reminded  of  ?  Whom  but  Mary  Emerson  and  her 
eloquent  theology  ?  She  had  a  deep  sympathy  with 
genius.  When  it  was  unhallowed,  as  in  Byron,  she  had 
none  the  less,  whilst  she  deplored  and  affected  to  de 
nounce  him.  But  she  adored  it  when  ennobled  by  char 
acter.  She  liked  to  notice  that  the  greatest  geniuses 
have  died  igaorant  of  their  power  and  influence.  She 
wished  you  to  scorn  to  shine.  "  My  opinion,"  she  writes, 
(is)  "  that  a  mind  like  Byron's  would  never  be  satisfied 
with  modern  Unitarianism,  —  that  the  fiery  depths  of 
Calvinism,  its  high  and  mysterious  elections  to  eternal 
bliss,  beyond  angels,  and  all  its  attendant  wonders  would 
have  alone  been  fitted  to  fix  his  imagination." 

Her  wit  was  so  fertile,  and  only  used  to  strike,  that 
she  never  used  it  for  display,  any  more  than  a  wasp 
would  parade  his  sting.  It  was  ever  the  will  and  not 
the  phrase  that  concerned  her.  Yet  certain  expressions, 
when  they  marked  a  memorable  state  of  mind  in  her 
experience,  recurred  to  her  afterwards,  and  she  would 

vindicate  herself  as  having  said  to  Dr.  R or  Uncle 

L so  and  so,  at  such  a  period  of  her  life.     But  they 

were  intensely  true  when  first  spoken.  All  her  lan 
guage  was  happy,  but  inimitable,  unattainable  by  talent, 
as  if  caught  from  some  dream.  She  calls  herself  "  the 
puny  pilgrim,  whose  sole  talent  is  sympathy."  "  I  like 
that  kind  of  apathy  that  is  a  triumph  to  overset." 


MARY  MOODY   EMERSON.  313 

She  writes  to  her  nephew  Charles  Emerson,  in  1833  : 
—  "I  could  never  have  adorned  the  garden.  If  I  had 
been  in  aught  but  dreary  deserts,  I  should  have  idolized 
my  friends,  despised  the  world  and  been  haughty.  I 
never  expected  connections  and  matrimony.  My  taste 
was  formed  in  romance,  and  I  knew  I  was  not  destined 
to  please.  I  love  God  and  his  creation  as,  I  never  else 
could.  I  scarcely  feel  the  sympathies  of  this  life 
enough  to  agitate  the  pool.  This  in  general,  one  case 
or  so  excepted,  and  even  this  is.  a  relation  to  God 
through  you.  'T  was  so  in  my  happiest  early  days, 
when  you  were  at  my  side." 

Destitution  is  the  Muse  of  her  genius,  —  Destitution 
and  Death.  I  used  to  propose  that. her  epitaph  should 
be  :  "  Here  lies  the  angel  of  Death."  And  wonderf  ully 
as  she  varies  and  poetically  repeats  that  image  in  every 
page  and  day,  yet  not  less  fondly  and  sublimely  she  re 
turns  to  the  other,  —  the  grandeur  of  humility  and  pri 
vation,  as  thus  ;  "  The  chief  witness  which  I  have  had 
of  a  Godlike  principle  of  action  and  feeling  is  in  the 
disinterested  joy  felt  in  others'  superiority.  For  the 
love  of  superior  virtue  is  mine  own  gift  from  God." 
"  Where  were  thine  own  intellect  if  others  had  not 
lived  ?  " 

She  had  many  acquaintances  among  the  notables  of 
the  time  ;  and  now  and  then  in  her  migrations  from 
town  to  town  in  Maine  and  Massachusetts,  in  search  of 
a  new  boarding-place,  discovered  some  preacher  with 
sense  or  piety,  or  both.  For  on  her  arrival  at  any  new 
home  she  was  likely  to  steer  first  to  the  minister's  house 
and  pray  his  wife  to  take  a  boarder  ;  and  as  the  minister 
found  quickly  that  she  knew  all  his  books  and  many 
more,  and  made  shrewd  guesses  at  his  character  and 


314  MARY   MOODY   EMERSON. 

possibilities,  she  would  easily  rouse  his  curiosity,  as  a 
person  who  could  read  his  secret  and  tell  him  his  for 
tune. 

She  delighted  in  success,  in  youth,  in  beauty,  in  ge 
nius,  in  manners.  When  she  met  a  young  person  who 
interested  her,  she  made  herself  acquainted  and  inti 
mate  with  him  or  her  at  once,  by  sympathy,  by  flattery, 
by  raillery,  by  anecdotes,  by  wit,  by  rebuke,  and  stormed 
the  castle.  None  but  was  attracted  or  piqued  by  her 
interest  and  wit  and  .wide  acquaintance  with  books  and 
with  eminent  names.  She  said  she  gave  herself  full 
swing  in  these  sudden  intimacies,  for  she  knew  she 
should  disgust  them  soon,  and  resolved  to  have  their 
best  hours.  "  Society  is  shrewd  to  detect  those  who  do 
not  belong  to  her  train,  and  seldom  wastes  her  atten 
tions."  She  surprised,  attracted,  chided  and  denounced 
her  companion  by  turns,  and  pretty  rapid  turns.  But 
no  intelligent  youth  or  maiden  could  have  once  met  her 
without  remembering  her  with  interest,  and  learning 
something  of  value.  Scorn  trifles,  lift  your  aims  :  do 
what  you  are  afraid  to  do  :  sublimity  of  character  must 
come  from  sublimity  of  motive  :  these  were  the  lessons 
which  were  urged  with  vivacity,  in  ever  new  language. 
But  if  her  companion  was  dull,  her  impatience  knew 
no  bounds.  She  tired  presently  of  dull  conversations, 
and  asked  to  be  read  to,  and  so  disposed  of  the  visitor. 
If  the  voice  or  the  reading  tired  her,  she  would  ask  the 
friend  if  he  or  she  would  do  an  errand  for  her,  and  so 
dismiss  them.  If  her  companion  were  a  little  ambi 
tious,  and  asked  her  opinions  on  books  or  matters  on 
which  she  did  not  wish  rude  hands  laid,  she  did  not 
hesitate  to  stop  the  intruder  with  "  How 's  your  cat, 
Mrs.  Tenner  ?  " 


MARY    MOODY   EMERSON.  315 

"  I  was  disappointed,"  she  writes,  "  in  finding  my  lit 
tle  Calvinist  no  companion,  a  cold  little  thing  who  lives 
in  society  alone,  and  is  looked  up  to  as  a  specimen  of 
genius.  I  performed  a  mission  in  secretly  undermining 
his  vanity,  or  trying  to.  Alas  !  never  done  but  by  mor 
tifying  affliction."  From  the  country  she  writes  to  her 
sister  in  town,  "  You  cannot  help  saying  that  my  epistle 
is  a  striking  specimen  of  egotism.  To  which  I  can  only 
answer  that,  in  the  country,  we  converse  so  much  more 
with  ourselves,  that  we  are  almost  led  to  forget  every 
body  else.  The  very  sound  of  your  bells  and  the  rat 
tling  of  the  carriages  have  a  tendency  to  divert  self 
ishness."  "  This  seems  a  world  rather  of  trying  each 
others'  dispositions  than  of  enjoying  each  others'  vir 
tues." 

She  had  the  misfortune  of  spinning  with  a  greater 
velocity  than  any  of  the  other  tops.  She  would  tear 
into  the  chaise  or  out  of  it,  into  the  house  or  out  of  it, 
into  the  conversation,  into  the  thought,  into  the  charac 
ter  of  the  stranger,  —  disdaining  all  the  graduation  by 
which  her  fellows  time  their  steps  :  and  though  she 
might  do  very  happily  in  a  planet  where  others  moved 
with  the  like  velocity,  she  was  offended  here  by  the 
phlegm  of  all  her  fellow-creatures,  and  disgusted  them 
by  her  impatience.  She  could  keep  step  with  no  hu 
man  being.  Her  nephew  [R.  W.  E.]  wrote  of  her  :  "  I 
am  glad  the  friendship  with  Aunt  Mary  is  ripening. 
As  by  seeing  a  high  tragedy,  reading  a  true  poem,  or  a 
novel  like  '  Corinne,'  so,  by  society  with  her,  one's  mind 
is  electrified  and  purged.  She  is  no  statute-book  of 
practical  commandments,  nor  orderly  digest  of  any 
system  of  philosophy,  divine  or  human,  but  a  Bible, 
miscellaneous  in  its  parts,  but  one  in  its  spirit,  wherein 


316  MARY   MOODY   EMERSON. 

are  sentences  of  condemnation,  promises  and  covenants 
of  love  that  make  foolish  the  wisdom  of  the  world  with 
the  power  of  God." 

Our  Delphian  was  fantastic  enough,  Heaven  knows, 
yet  could  always  be  tamed  by  large  and  sincere  conver 
sation.  Was  there  thought  and  eloquence,  she  would 
listen  like  a  child.  Her  aspiration  and  prayer  would 
begin,  and  the  whim  and  petulance  in  which  by  diseased 
habit  she  had  grown  to  indulge  without  suspecting  it, 
was  burned  up  in  the  glow  of  her  pure  and  poetic  spirit, 
which  dearly  loved  the  Infinite. 

She  writes  :  "  August,  1847  :  Vale.  —  My  oddities 
were  never  designed  —  effect  of  an  uncalculating  con 
stitution,  at  first,  then  through  isolation  ;  and  as  to 
dress,  from  duty.  To  be  singular  of  choice,  without 
singular  talents  and  virtues,  is  as  ridiculous  as  ungrate 
ful."  "  It  is  so  universal  with  all  classes  to  avoid  con 
tact  with  me  that  I  blame  none.  The  fact  has  gen 
erally  increased  piety  and  self-love."  "  As  a  traveller 
enters  some  fine  palace  and  finds  all  the  doors  closed, 
and  he  only  allowed  the  use  of  some  avenues  and  pas 
sages,  so  have  I  wandered  from  the  cradle  bver  the 
apartments  of  social  affections,  or  the  cabinets  of  nat 
ural  or  moral  philosophy,  the  recesses  of  ancient  and 
modern  love.  All  say  —  Forbear  to  e;iter  the  pales  of 
the  initiated  by  birth,  wealth,  talents  and  patronage. 
I  submit  with  delight,  for  it  is  the  echo  of  a  decree 
from  above  ;  and  from  the  highway  hedges  where  I  get 
lodging,  and  from  the  rays  which  burst  forth  when  the 
crowd  are  entering  these  noble  saloons,  whilst  I  stand 
in  the  doors,  I  get  a  pleasing  vision  which  is  an  earnest 
of  the  interminable  skies  where  the  mansions  are  pre 
pared  for  the  poor." 


MARY   MOODY  EMERSON.  317 

"  To  live  to  give  pain  rather  than  pleasure  (the  lat 
ter  so  delicious)  seems  the  spider-like  necessity  of  my 
being  on  earth,  and  I  have  gone  on  my  queer  way  with 
joy,  saying,  "  Shall  the  clay  interrogate  ?  "  But  in 
every  actual  case,  't  is  hard,  and  we  lose  sight  of  the 
first  necessity,  —  here  too  amid  works  red  with  default 
in  all  great  and  grand  and  infinite  aims.  Yet  with  in 
tentions  disinterested,  though  uncontrolled  by  proper 
reverence  for  others." 

When  Mrs.  Thoreau  called  on  her  one  day,  wearing 
pink  ribbons,  she  shut  her  eyes,  and  so  conversed  with 
her  for  a  time.  By  and  by  she  said,  "  Mrs.  Thoreau,  I 
don't  know  whether  you  have  observed  that  my  eyes 
are  shut."  "  Yes,  Madam,  I  have  observed  it."  "  Per 
haps  you  would  like  to  know  the  reasons  ?  "  "  Yes,  I 
should."  "  I  don't  like  to  see  a  person  of  your  age 
guilty  of  such  levity  in  her  dress." 

When  her  cherished  favorite,  E.  H.,  was  at  the  Vale, 
and  had  gone  out  to  walk  in  the  forest  with  Hannah, 
her  niece,  Aunt  Mary  feared  they  were  lost,  and  found 
a  man  in  the  next  house  and  begged  -him  to  go  and 
look  for  them.  The  man  went  and  returned  saying  that 
he  could  not  find  them.  "  Go  and  cry,  '  Elizabeth  ! ' ' 
The  man  rather  declined  this  service,  as  he  did  not 
know  Miss  H.  She  was  highly  offended,  and  exclaimed, 
"  God  has  given  you  a  voice  that  you  might  use  it  in 
the  service  of  your  fellow-creatures.  Go  instantly  and 
call  'Elizabeth'  till  you  find  them."  The  man  went 
immediately,  and  did  as  he  was  bid,  and  having  found 
them  apologized  for  calling  thus,  by  telling  what  Miss 
Emerson  had  said  to  him. 

When  some  ladies  of  my  acquaintance  by  an  unusual 
chance  found  themselves  in  her  neighborhood  and  vis« 


SI  8  MARY  MOODY  EMERSON. 

ited  her,  I  told  them  that  she  was  no  whistle  that  every 
mouth  could  play  on,  bnt  a  quite  clannish  instrument, 
a  pibroch,  for  example,  from  which  none  bnt  a  native 
Highlander  could  draw  music. 

In  her  solitude  of  twenty  yean,  with  fewest  books 
and  those  only  sermons,  and  a  copy  of  "  Paradise  Lost," 
without  covers  or  title-page,  so  that  later,  when  she 
heard  much  of  Milton  and  sought  his  work,  she  found 
it  was  her  very  book  which  she  knew  so  well,  —  she 
was  driven  to  find  Nature  her  companion  and  solace. 
She  speaks  of  "  her  attempts  in  Maiden,  to  wake  up  the 
soul  amid  the  dreary  scenes  of  monotonous  Sabbaths, 
when  Nature  looked  like  a  pulpit. 

"Maiden,  November  15th,  1805.  —  What  a  rich  day, 
so  fully  occupied  in  pursuing  truth  that  I  scorned  to 
touch  a  novel  which  for  so  many  years  I  have  wanted. 
How  insipid  is  fiction  to  a  mind  touched  with  immortal 
views  !  November  16th. — I  am  so  small  in  my  expecta 
tions,  that  a  week  of  industry  delights.  Rose  before  light 
every  morn  ;  visited  from  necessity  once,  and  again  for 
books  ;  read  Butler's  Analogy  ;  commented  on  the  Scrip 
tures  ;  read  in  a  little  book,  —  Cicero's  Letters,  —  a  few : 
touched  Shakspeare,  —  washed,  carded,  cleaned  house, 
and  baked.  To-day  cannot  recall  an  error,  nor  scarcely 
a  sacrifice,  bnt  more  fulness  of  content  in  the  labors  of 
a  day  never  was  felt.  There  is  a  sweet  pleasure  in 
bending  to  circumstances  while  superior  to  them. 

"  Maiden,  September,  1807.  —  The  rapture  of  feel 
ing  I  would  part  from,  for  days  more  devoted  to  higher 
discipline.  But  when  Nature  beams  with  such  excess 
of  beauty,  when  the  heart  thrills  with  hope  in  its  Au 
thor, —  feels  that  it  is  related  to  him  more  than  by  any 
ties  of  Creation,  —  it  exults,  too  fondly  perhaps  for  a 


MARY  MOODY   EMERSON.  319 

state  of  trial.  Bat  in  dead  of  night,  nearer  morning, 
when  the  eastern  stars  glow  or  appear  to  glow  with 
more  indescribable  lustre,  a  lustre  which  penetrates  the 
spirit  with  wonder  and  curiosity,  —  then,  however  awed, 

who  can  fear  ?  Since  Sabbath,  Aunt  B [the  insane 

aunt]  was  brought  here.  Ah  !  mortifying  sight !  in 
stinct  perhaps  triumphs  over  reason,  and  every  digni 
fied  respect  to  herself,  in  her  anxiety  about  recovery, 
and  the  smallest  means  connected.  Not  one  wish  of 
others  detains  her,  not  one  care.  But  it  alarms  me  not, 
I  shall  delight  to  return  to  God.  His  name  my  fullest 
confidence.  His  sole  presence  ineffable  pleasure. 

"  I  walked  yesterday  five  or  more  miles,  lost  to  men 
tal  or  heart  existence,  through  fatigue, — just  fit  for  the 
society  I  went  into,  all  mildness  and  the  most  common 
place  virtue.  The  lady  is  celebrated  for  her  cleverness, 
and  she  was  never  so  good  to  me.  Met  a  lady  in  the 
morning  walk,  a  foreigner,  —  conversed  on  the  accom 
plishments  of  Miss  T.  My  mind  expanded  with  novel 
and  innocent  pleasure.  Ah !  were  virtue,  and  that  of 
dear  heavenly  meekness  attached  by  any  necessity  to  a 
lower  rank  of  genteel  people,  who  would  sympathize 
with  the  exalted  with  satisfaction  ?  But  that  is  not  the 
case,  I  believe.  A  mediocrity  does  not  seem  to  me 
more  distant  from  eminent  virtue  than  the  extremes  of 
station  ;  though  after  all  it  must  depend  on  the  nature 
of  the  heart.  A  mediocre  mind  will  be  deranged  in 
either  extreme  of  wealth  or  poverty,  praise  or  censure, 
society  or  solitude.  The  feverish  lust  of  notice  perhaps 
in  all  these  cases  would  injure  the  heart  of  common 
refinement  and  virtue." 

Later  she  writes  of  her  early  days  in  Maiden  : 
"  When  I  get  a  glimpse  of  the  revolutions  of  nations  — 


320  MARY   MOODY   EMERSON. 

that  retribution  which  seems  forever  going  on  in  this 
part  of  creation,  —  I  remember  with  great  satisfaction 
that  from  all  the  ills  suffered,  in  childhood  and  since, 
from  others,  I  felt  that  it  was  rather  the  order  of  things 
than  their  individual  fault.  It  was  from  being  early 
impressed  by  my  poor  unpractical  aunt,  that  Providence 
and  Prayer  were  all  in  all.  Poor  woman  !  Could  her 
own  temper  in  childhood  or  age  have  been  subdued, 
how  happy  for  herself,  who  had  a  warm  heart  ;  but  for 
me  would  have  prevented  those  early  lessons  of  forti 
tude,  which  her  caprices  taught  me  to  practise.  Had  I 
prospered  in  life,  what  a  proud,  excited  being,  even  to 
feverishuess,  I  might  have  been.  Loving  to  shine,  flat 
tered  and  flattering,  anxious,  and  wrapped  in  others, 
frail  and  feverish  as  myself." 

She  alludes  to  the  early  days  of  her  solitude,  sixty 
years  afterward,  on  her  own  farm  in  Maine,  speaking 
sadly  the  thoughts  suggested  by  the  rich  autumn  land 
scape  around  her :  "  Ah  !  as  I  walked  out  this  after 
noon,  so  sad  was  wearied  Nature  that  I  felt  her  whis 
per  to  me,  '  Even  these  leaves  you  use  to  think  my 
better  emblems  have  lost  their  charm  on  me  too,  and  I 
weary  of  my  pilgrimage,  —  tired  that  I  must  again  be 
clothed  in  the  grandeurs  of  winter,  and  anon  be  be 
dizened  in  flowers  and  cascades.  Oh,  if  there  be  a 
power  superior  to  me,  —  and  that  there  is,  my  own 
dread  fetters  proclaim,  —  when  will  He  let  my  lights 
go  out,  my  tides  cease  to  an  eternal  ebb  ?  Oh  for 
transformation  !  I  am  not  infinite,  nor  have  I  power 
or  will,  but  bound  and  imprisoned,  the  tool  of  mind, 
even  of  the  beings  I  feed  and  adorn.  Vital,  I  feel  not  : 
not  active,  but  passive,  and  cannot  aid  the  creatures 
which  seem  my  progeny,  —  myself.  But  you  are  in- 


MARY   MOODY   EMERSON.  321 

grate  to  tire  of  me,  now  you  want  to  look  beyond. 
'T  was  I  who  soothed  your  thorny  childhood,  though  you 
knew  me  not,  and  you  were  placed  in  my  most  leafless 
waste.  Yet  I  comforted  thee  when  going  on  the  daily 
errand,  fed  thee  with  my  mallows,  on  the  first  young 
day  of  bread  failing.  More,  I  led  thee  when  thou 
knewest  not  a  syllable  of  my  active  Cause,  (any  more 
than  if  it  had  been  dead  eternal  matter,)  to  that  Cause  ; 
and  from  the  solitary  heart  taught  thee  to  say,  at  first 
womanhood,  Alive  with  God  is  enough,  —  't  is  rapt 
ure.'  " 

"  This  morning  rich  in  existence  ;  the  remembrance 
of  past  destitution  in  the  deep  poverty  of  my  aunt, 
and  her  most  unhappy  temper  ;  of  bitterer  days  of 
youth  and  age,  when  my  senses  and  understanding 
seemed  but  means  of  labor,  or  to  learn  my  own  unpop 
ular  destiny,  and  that  —  but  no  more  ;  —  joy,  hope  and 
resignation  unite  me  to  Him  whose  mysterious  Will 
adjusts  everything,  and  the  darkest  and  lightest  are 
alike  welcome.  Oh  !  could  this  state  of  mind  continue, 
death  would  not  be  longed  for."  "  I  felt,  till  above 
twenty  years  old,  as  though  Christianity  were  as  neces 
sary  to  the  world  as  existence  ;  —  was  ignorant  that  it 
was  lately  promulgated,  or  partially  received."  Later  : 
"  Could  I  have  those  hours  in  which  in  fresh  youth  I 
said,  To  obey  God  is  joy,  though  there  were  no  here 
after,  I  should  rejoice,  though  returning  to  dust." 

"Folly  follows  me  as  the  shadow  does  the  form. 
Yet  my  whole  life  devoted  to  find  some  new  truth  will 
link  me  closer  to  God.  And  the  simple  principle 
which  made  me  say,  in  youth  and  laborious  poverty, 
that,  should  He  make  me  a  blot  on  the  fair  face  of  his 
Creation,  I  should  rejoice  in  His  will,  has  never  been 
21 


322  MARY   MOODY   EMERSON. 

equalled,  though  it  returns  in  the  long  life  of  destitu 
tion  like  an  Angel.  I  end  days  of  fine  health  and  cheer 
fulness  without  getting  upward  now.  How  did  I  use 
to  think  them  lost !  If  more  liberal  views  of  the  di 
vine  government  make  me  think  nothing  lost  which 
carries  me  to  His  now  hidden  presence,  there  may  be 
danger  of  losing  and  causing  others  the  loss  of  that  awe 
and  sobriety  so  indispensable." 

She  was  addressed  and  offered  marriage  by  a  man 
of  talents,  education  and  good  social  position,  whom 
she  respected.  The  proposal  gave  her  pause  and  much 
to  think,  but  after  consideration  she  refused  it,  I  know 
not  on  what  grounds  :  but  a  few  allusions  to  it  in  her 
diary  suggest  that  it  was  a  religious  act,  and  it  is  easy 
to  see  that  she  could  hardly  promise  herself  sympathy 
in  her  religious  abandonment  with  any  but  a  rarely- 
found  partner. 

"  1807.  Jan.  19,  Maiden  [alluding  to  the  sale  of  her 
farm].  Last  night  I  spoke  two  sentences  about  that 
foolish  place,  which  I  most  bitterly  lament,  —  not  be 
cause  they  were  improper,  but  they  arose  from  anger. 
It  is  difficult,  when  we  have  no  kind  of  barrier,  to  com 
mand  our  feelings.  But  this  shall  teach  me.  It  hum 
bles  me  beyond  anything  I  have  met,  to  find  myself 
for  a  moment  affected  with  hope,  fear,  or  especially 
anger,  about  interest.  But  I  did  overcome  and  return 
kindness  for  the  repeated  provocations.  What  is  it  ? 
My  uncle  has  been  the  means  of  lessening  my  property. 
Ridiculous  to  wound  him  for  that.  He  was  honestly 
seeking  his  own.  But  at  last,  this  very  night,  the  bar 
gain  is  closed,  and  I  am  delighted  with  myself  :  —  my 
dear  self  has  done  well.  Never  did  I  so  exult  in  a 
trifle.  Happy  beginning  of  my  bargain,  though  the  sale 


MARY  MOODY  EMERSON.  323 

of  the  place  appears  to  me  one  of  the  worst  things  for 
me  at  this  time." 

"  Jan.  21.  Weary  at  times  of  objects  so  tedious  to 
hear  and  see.  O  the  power  of  vision,  then  the  delicate 
power  of  the  nerve  which  receives  impressions  from 
sounds  !  If  ever  I  am  blest  with  a  social  life,  let  the 
accent  be  grateful.  Could  I  at  times  be  regaled  with 
music,  it  would  remind  me  that  there  are  sounds.  Shut 
up  in  this  severe  weather  with  careful,  infirm,  afflicted 
age,  it  is  wonderful,  my  spirits  :  hopes  I  can  have  none. 
Not  a  prospect  but  is  dark  on  earth,  as  to  knowledge 
and  joy  from  externals  :  but  the  prospect  of  a  dying 
bed  reflects  lustre  on  all  the  rest. 

"  The  evening  is  fine,  but  I  dare  not  enjoy  it.  The 
moon  and  stars  reproach  me,  because  I  had  to  do  with 
mean  fools.  Should  I  take  so  much  care  to  save  a  few 
dollars  ?  Never  was  I  so  much  ashamed.  Did  I  say 
with  what  rapture  I  might  dispose  of  them  to  the  poor  ? 
Pho  !  self-preservation,  dignity,  confidence  in  the  fu 
ture,  contempt  of  trifles  !  Alas,  I  am  disgraced.  Took 
a  momentary  revenge  on for  worrying  me." 

"  Jan.  30.  I  walked  to  Captain  Dexter's.  Sick. 
Promised  never  to  put  that  ring  on.  Ended  miserably 
the  month  which  began  so  worldly. 

"  It  was  the  choice  of  the  Eternal  that  gave  the  glow 
ing  seraph  his  joys,  and  to  me  my  vile  imprisonment. 
I  adore  Him.  It  was  His  will  that  gives  my  superiors 
to  shine  in  wisdom,  friendship  and  ardent  pursuits,  while 
I  pass  my  youth,  its  last  traces,  in  the  veriest  shades  of 
ignorance  and  complete  destitution  of  society.  I  praise 
Him,  though  when  my  strength  of  body  falters,  it  is  a 
trial  not  easily  described." 

"  True,  I  must  finger  the  very  farthing  candle-ends, 


324  MARY   MOODY    EMERSON. 

—  the  duty  assigned  to  my  pride  ;  and  indeed  so  poor 
are  some  of  those  allotted  to  join  me  on  the  weary 
needy  path,  that  't  is  benevolence  enjoins  self-deiiial. 
Could  I  but  dare  it  in  the  bread  -  and  -  water  diet ! 
Could  I  but  live  free  from  calculation,  as  in  the  first 
half  of  life,  when  my  poor  aunt  lived.  I  had  ten  dol 
lars  a  year  for  clothes  and  charity,  and  I  never  re 
member  to  have  been  needy,  though  I  never  had  but 
two  or  tliree  aids  in  those  six  years  of  earning  my  home. 
That  ten  dollars  my  dear  father  earned,  and  one  hun 
dred  dollars  remain,  and  I  can't  bear  to  take  it,  and 
don't  know  what  to  do.  Yet  I  would  not  breathe  to 

or my  want.  'T  is  only  now  that  I  would 

not  let pay  my  hotel-bill.  They  have  enough  to 

do.  Besides,  it  would  send  me  packing  to  depend  for 
anything.  Better  anything  than  dishonest  dependence, 
which  robs  the  poorer,  and  despoils  friendship  of  equal 
connection." 

In  1830,  in  one  of  her  distant  homes,  she  reproaches 
herself  with  some  sudden  passion  she  has  for  visiting 
her  old  home  and  friends  in  the  city,  where  she  had 
lived  for  a  while  with  her  brother  [Mr.  Emerson's 
father]  and  afterwards  with  his  widow.  "  Do  I  yearn 
to  be  in  Boston  ?  'T  would  fatigue,  disappoint ;  I,  who 
have  so  long  despised  means,  who  have  always  found  it 
a  sort  of  rebellion  to  seek  them  ?  Yet  the  old  desire 
for  the  worm  is  not  so  greedy  as  [mine]  to  find  my 
self  in  my  old  haunts." 

"  1833.  The  difficulty  of  getting  places  of  low  board 
for  a  lady,  is  obvious.  And,  at  moments,  I  am  tired 
out.  Yet  how  independent,  how  better  than  to  hang 
on  friends  !  And  sometimes  I  fancy  that  I  am  emptied 
and  peeled  to  carry  some  seed  to  the  ignorant,  which 


MARY   MOODY   EMERSON.  325 

no  idler  wind  can  so  well  dispense."  "  Hard  to  con 
tend  for  a  health  which  is  daily  used  in  petition  for  a 
final  close."  "  Am  I,  poor  victim,  swept  on  through 
the  sternest  ordinations  of  nature's  laws  which  slay  ? 
yet  I  '11  trust."  "  There  was  great  truth  in  what  a 
pious  enthusiast  said,  that,  if  God  should  cast  him  into 
hell,  he  would  yet  clasp  his  hands  around  Him." 

"  Newburyport,  Sept.  1822.  High,  solemn,  entranc 
ing  noon,  prophetic  of  the  approach  of  the  Presiding 
Spirit  of  Autumn.  God  preserve  my  reason  !  Alone, 
feeling  strongly,  fully,  that  I  have  deserved  nothing  ; 
according  to  Adam  Smith's  idea  of  society,  '  done  noth 
ing  ; '  doing  nothing,  never  expect  to  ;  yet  joying  in  ex 
istence,  perhaps  striving  to  beautify  one  individual  of 
God's  creation. 

"  Our  civilization  is  not  always  mending  our  poetry. 
It  is  sauced  and  spiced  with  our  complexity  of  arts  and 
inventions,  but  lacks  somewhat  of  the  grandeur  that  be 
longs  to  a  Doric  and  unphilosophical  age.  In  a  relig 
ious  contemplative  public  it  would  have  less  outward 
variety,  but  simpler  and  grander  means  ;  a  few  pulsa 
tions  of  created  beings,  a  few  successions  of  acts,  a  few 
lamps  held  out  in  the  firmament  enable  us  to  talk  of 
Time,  make  epochs,  write  histories,  —  to  do  more,  —  to 
date  the  revelations  of  God  to  man.  But  these  lamps 
are  held  to  measure  out  some  of  the  moments  of  eter 
nity,  to  divide  the  history  of  God's  operations  in  the 
birth  and  death  of  nations,  of  worlds.  It  is  a  goodly 
name  for  our  notions  of  breathing,  suffering,  enjoying, 
acting.  We  personify  it.  We  call  it  by  every  name 
of  fleeting,  dreaming,  vaporing  imagery.  Yet  it  is 
nothing.  We  exist  in  eternity.  Dissolve  the  body  and 
the  night  is  gone,  the  stars  are  extinguished,  and  we 


326  MARY   MOODY   EMERSON. 

measure  duration  by  the  number  of  our  thoughts,  by 
the  activity  of  reason,  the  discovery  of  truths,  the  ac 
quirement  of  virtue,  the  approach  to  God.  And  the 
gray-headed  god  throws  his  shadows  all  around,  and 
his  slaves  catch,  now  at  this,  now  at  that,  one  at  the 
halo  he  throws  around  poetry,  or  pebbles,  bugs,  or  bub 
bles.  Sometimes  they  climb,  sometimes  creep  into  the 
meanest  holes  —  but  they  are  all  alike  in  vanishing,  like 
the  shadow  of  a  cloud." 

To  her  nephew  Charles  :  "  War  ;  what  do  I  think  of 
it  ?  Why  in  your  ear  I  think  it  so  much  better  than 
oppression  that  if  it  were  ravaging  the  whole  geography 
of  despotism  it  would  be  an  omen  of  high  and  glorious 
import.  Channing  paints  its  miseries,  but  does  he  know 
those  of  a  worse  war,  —  private  animosities,  pinching, 
bitter  warfare  of  the  human  heart,  the  cruel  oppression 
of  the  poor  by  the  rich,  which  corrupts  old  worlds  ? 
How  much  better,  more  honest,  are  storming  and  con 
flagration  of  towns  !  They  are  but  letting  blood  which 
corrupts  into  worms  and  dragons.  A  war-trump  would 
be  harmony  to  the  jars  of  theologians  and  statesmen 
such  as  the  papers  bring.  It  was  the  glory  of  the 
Chosen  People,  nay,  it  is  said  there  was  war  in  Heaven. 
War  is  among  the  means  of  discipline,  the  rough  meli- 
orators,  and  no  worse  than  the  strife  with  poverty,  mal 
ice  and  ignorance.  War  devastates  the  conscience  of 
men,  yet  corrupt  peace  does  not  less.  And  if  you  tell 
me  of  the  miseries  of  the  battle-field,  with  the  sensi 
tive  Channing,  (of  whose  love  of  life  I  am  ashamed,) 
what  of  a  few  days  of  agony,  what  of  a  vulture  being 
the  bier,  tomb  and  parson  of  a  hero,  compared  to  the 
long  years  of  sticking  on  a  bed  and  wished  away  ? 
For  the  widows  and  orphans — Oh,  1  could  give  facts  of 


MARY   MOODY    EMERSON.  327 

the  long-drawn  years  of  imprisoned  minds  and  hearts, 
which  uneducated  orphans  endure  ! 

"  O  Time  !  Thou  loiterer.  Thou,  whose  might  has 
laid  low  the  vastest  and  crushed  the  worm,  restest  on 
thy  hoary  throne,  with  like  potency  over  thy  agitations 
and  thy  graves.  When  will  thy  routines  give  way  to 
higher  and  lasting  institutions  ?  When  thy  trophies 
and  thy  name  and  all  its  wizard  forms  be  lost  in  the 
Genius  of  Eternity  ?  In  Eternity,  no  deceitful  prom 
ises,  no  fantastic  illusions,  no  riddles  concealed  by  thy 
shrouds,  none  of  thy  Arachnean  webs,  which  decoy  and 
destroy.  Hasten  to  finish  thy  motley  work,  on  which 
frightful  Gorgons  are  at  play,  in  spite  of  holy  ghosts. 
'T  is  already  moth-eaten  and  its  shuttles  quaver,  as  the 
beams  of  the  loom  are  shaken. 

"  Sat.  25.  Hail  requiem  of  departed  Time  !  Never 
was  incumbent's  funeral  followed  by  expectant  heir 
with  more  satisfaction.  Yet  not  his  hope  is  mine.  For 
in  the  weary  womb  are  prolific  numbers  of  the  same  sad 
hour,  colored  by  the  memory  of  defeats  in  virtue,  by  the 
prophecy  of  others,  more  dreary,  blind  and  sickly.  Yet 
He  who  formed  thy  web,  who  stretched  thy  warp  from 
long  ages,  has  graciously  given  man  to  throw  his  shut 
tle,  or  feel  he  does,  and  irradiate  the  filling  woof  with 
many  a  flowery  rainbow,  —  labors,  rather  —  evanescent 
efforts,  which  will  wear  like  flowerets  in  brighter  soils  ; 
—  has  attuned  his  mind  in  such  unison  with  the  harp  of 
the  universe,  that  he  is  never  without  some  chord  of 
hope's  music.  'T  is  not  in  the  nature  of  existence,  while 
there  is  a  God,  to  be  without  the  pale  of  excitement. 
When  the  dreamy  pages  of  life  seem  all  turned  and 
folded  down  to  every  weariness,  even  this  idea  of  those 
who  fill  the  hour  with  crowded  virtues,  lifts  the  spectar 


328  MARY   MOODY   EMERSON. 

tor  to  othei  worlds,  and  he  adores  the  eternal  purposes 
of  Him  who  lifteth  up  and  casteth  down,  bringeth  to 
dust,  and  raiseth  to  the  skies.  'T  is  a  strange  deficiency 
in  Brougham's  title  of  a  System  of  Natural  Theology, 
when  the  moral  constitution  of  the  being  for  whom 
these  contrivances  were  made  is  not  recognized.  The 
wonderful  inhabitant  of  the  building  to  which  unknown 
ages  were  the  mechanics,  is  left  out  as  to  that  part  where 
the  Creator  had  put  his  own  lighted  candle,  placed  a 
vice-gerent.  Not  to  complain  of  the  poor  old  earth's 
chaotic  state,  brought  so  near  in  its  long  and  gloomy 
transmutings  by  the  geologist.  Yet  its  youthful  charms 
as  decked  by  the  hand  of  Moses'  Cosmogony,  will  linger 
about  the  heart,  while  Poetry  succumbs  to  Science.  Yet 
there  is  a  sombre  music  in  the  whirl  of  times  so  long 
gone  by.  And  the  bare  bones  of  this  poor  embryo  earth 
may  give  the  idea  of  the  Infinite  far,  far  better  than 
when  dignified  with  arts  and  industry  :  —  its  oceans, 
when  beating  the  symbols  of  ceasless  ages,  than  when 
covered  with  cargoes  of  war  and  oppression.  How 
grand  its  preparation  for  souls,  —  souls  who  were  to 
feel  the  Divinity,  before  Science  had  dissected  the  emo 
tions,  and  applied  its  steely  analysis  to  that  state  of  be 
ing  which  recognizes  neither  psychology  nor  element. 

"  September,  1836.  Vale.  The  mystic  dream  which 
is  shed  over  the  season.  O,  to  dream  more  deeply  ;  to 
lose  external  objects  a  little  more  !  Yet  the  hold  on 
them  is  so  slight,  that  duty  is  lost  sight  of  perhaps,  at 
times.  Sadness  is  better  than  walking  talking  acting 
somnambulism.  Yes,  this  entire  solitude  with  the  Be 
ing  who  makes  the  powers  of  life  !  Even  Fame,  which 
lives  in  other  states  of  Virtue,  palls.  Usefulness,  if  it 
requires  action,  seems  less  like  existence  than  the  desire 


MARY   MOODY   EMERSON.  329 

of  being  absorbed  in  God,  retaining  consciousness. 
Number  the  waste-places  of  the  journey,  —  the  secret 
martyrdom  of  youth,  heavier  than  the  stake,  I  thought, 
the  narrow  limits  which  know  no  outlet,  the  bitter  dregs 
of  the  cup,  —  and  all  are  sweetened  by  the  purpose  of 
Him  I  love.  The  idea  of  being  no  mate  for  those  intel- 
lectualists  I  Ve  loved  to  admire,  is  no  pain.  Hereafter 
the  same  solitary  joy  will  go  with  me,  were  I  not  to  live, 
as  I  expect,  in  the  vision  of  the  Infinite.  Never  do  the 
feelings  of  the  Infinite,  and  the  consciousness  of  finite 
frailty  and  ignorance,  harmonize  so  well  as  at  this  mys 
tic  season  in  the  deserts  of  life.  Contradictions,  the 
modern  German  says,  of  the  Infinite  and  finite." 

I  sometimes  fancy  I  detect  in  her  writings,  a  certain 
—  shall  I  say  —  polite  and  courtly  homage  to  the  name 
and  dignity  of  Jesus,  not  at  all  spontaneous,  but  grow 
ing  out  of  her  respect  to  the  Revelation,  and  really  veil 
ing  and  betraying  her  organic  dislike  to  any  interfer 
ence,  any  mediation  between  her  and  the  Author  of  her 
being,  assurance  of  whose  direct  dealing  with  her  she 
incessantly  invokes  :  for  example,  the  parenthesis  "  Sav 
ing  thy  presence,  Priest  and  Medium  of  all  this  approach 
for  a  sinful  creature  !  "  "  Were  it  possible  that  the 
Creator  was  not  virtually  present  with  the  spirits  and 
bodies  which  He  has  made  :  —  if  it  were  in  the  nature 
of  things  possible  He  could  withdraw  himself,  —  I 
would  hold  on  to  the  faith,  that,  at  some  moment  of  His 
existence,  I  was  present  :  that,  though  cast  from  Him, 
my  sorrows,  my  ignorance  and  meanness  were  a  part  of 
His  plan  ;  my  death,  too,  however  long  and  tediously 
delayed  to  prayer,  —  was  decreed,  was  fixed.  Oh  how 
weary  in  youth  —  more  so  scarcely  now,  not  whenever 
I  can  breathe,  as  it  seems,  the  atmosphere  of  the  Om- 


330  MARY   MOODY   EMERSON. 

nipresence  :  then  I  ask  not  faith  nor  knowledge  ;  honors, 
pleasures,  labors,  I  always  refuse,  compared  to  this  di 
vine  partaking  of  existence  ;  —  but  how  rare,  how  de 
pendent  on  the  organs  through  which  the  soul  operates  ! 

"  The  sickness  of  the  last  week  was  fine  medicine  ; 
pain  disintegrated  the  spirit,  or  became  spiritual.  I 
rose,  —  I  felt  that  I  had  given  to  God  more  perhaps 
than  an  angel  could,  —  had  promised  Him  in  youth  that 
to  be  a  blot  on  this  fair  world,  at  His  command,  would 
be  acceptable.  Constantly  offer  myself  to  continue  the 
obscurest  and  loneliest  thing  ever  heard  of,  with  one 
proviso,  —  His  agency.  Yes,  love  Thee,  and  all  Thou 
dost,  while  Thou  sheddest  frost  and  darkness  on  every 
path  of  mine." 

For  years  she  had  her  bed  made  in  the  form  of  a 
coffin  ;  and  delighted  herself  with  the  discovery  of  the 
figure  of  a  coffin  made  every  evening  on  their  sidewalk, 
by  the  shadow  of  a  church  tower  which  adjoined  the 
house. 

Saladin  caused  his  shroud  to  be  made,  and  carried  it 
to  battle  as  his  standard.  She  made  up  her  shroud, 
and  death  still  refusing  to  come,  and  she  thinking  it  a 
pity  to  let  it  lie  idle,  wore  it  as  a  night-gown,  or  a  day- 
gown,  nay,  went  out  to  ride  in  it,  on  horseback,  in  her 
mountain  roads,  until  it  was  worn  out.  Then  she  had 
another  made  up,  and  as  she  never  travelled  without 
being  provided  for  this  dear  and  indispensable  contin 
gency,  I  believe  she  wore  out  a  great  many. 

"  1833.  I  have  given  up,  the  last  year  or  two,  the 
hope  of  dying.  In  the  lowest  ebb  of  health  nothing  is 
ominous  ;  diet  and  exercise  restore.  So  it  seems  best 
to  get  that  very  humbling  business  of  insurance.  I  en 
ter  my  dear  sixty  the  last  of  this  mouth." 


MARY   MOODY    EMERSON.  331 

"  1835,  June  16.  Tedious  indisposition  :  —  hoped,  as 
it  took  a  new  form,  it  would  open  the  cool,  sweet  grave. 
Now  existence  itself  in  any  form  is  sweet.  Away  with 
knowledge  ;  —  God  alone.  He  communicates  this  our 
condition  and  humble  waiting,  or  I  should  never  per 
ceive  Him.  Science,  Nature,  —  O,  I  Ve  yearned  to  open 
some  page  ;  —  not  now,  too  late.  Ill  health  and  nerves. 
O  dear  worms,  —  how  they  will  at  some  sure  time  take 
down  this  tedious  tabernacle,  most  valuable  companions, 
instructors  in  the  science  of  mind,  by  gnawing  away  the 
mashes  which  have  chained  it.  A  very  Beatrice  in  show 
ing  the  Paradise.  Yes,  I  irk  under  contact  with  forms 
of  depravity,  while  I  am  resigned  to  being  nothing, 
never  expect  a  palm,  a  laurel,  hereafter." 

"  1826,  July.  If  one  could  choose,  and  without  crime 
be  gibbeted,  —  were  it  not  altogether  better  than  the 
long  drooping  away  by  age  without  mentality  or  devo 
tion  ?  The  vulture  and  crow  would  caw  caw,  and,  un 
conscious  of  any  deformity  in  the  mutilated  body,  would 
relish  their  meal,  make  no  grimace  of  affected  sympa 
thy,  nor  suffer  any  real  compassion.  I  pray  to  die, 
though  happier  myriads  and  mine  own  companions  press 
nearer  to  the  throne.  His  coldest  beam  will  purify  and 
render  me  forever  holy.  Had  I  the  highest  place  of 
acquisition  and  diffusing  virtue  here,  the  principle  of 
human  sympathy  would  be  too  strong  for  that  rapt  emo 
tion,  that  severe  delight  which  I  crave  ;  nay  for  that 
kind  of  obscure  virtue  which  is  so  rich  to  lay  at  the  feet 
of  the  Author  of  morality.  Those  economists  (Adam 
Smith)  who  say  nothing  is  added  to  the  wealth  of  a  na 
tion  but  what  is  dug  out  of  the  earth,  and  that,  what 
ever  disposition  of  virtue  may  exist,  unless  something  is 
done  for  society,  deserves  no  fame,  —  why  I  am  content 


332  MARY   MOODY  EMERSON. 

with  such  paradoxical  kind  of  facts  ;  but  one  secret  sen* 
timent  of  virtue,  disinterested  (or  perhaps  not),  is  wor 
thy,  and  will  tell,  in  the  world  of  spirits,  of  God's  imme 
diate  presence,  more  than  the  blood  of  many  a  martyr 
who  has  it  not."  "  I  have  heard  that  the  greatest  gen 
iuses  have  died  ignorant  of  their  power  and  influence  on 
the  arts  and  sciences.  I  believe  thus  much,  that  their 
large  perception  consumed  their  egotism,  or  made  it  im 
possible  for  them  to  make  small  calculations." 

"  That  greatest  of  all  gifts,  however  small  my  power 
of  receiving,  —  the  capacity,  the  element  to  love  the 
All-perfect,  without  regard  to  personal  happiness  :  — 
happiness  ?  —  't  is  itself."  She  checks  herself  amid 
her  passionate  prayers  for  immediate  communion  with 
God  ;  —  "I  who  never  made  a  sacrifice  to  record,  —  I 
cowering  in  the  nest  of  quiet  for  so  many  years  ;  —  I 
indulge  the  delight  of  sympathizing  with  great  vir 
tues,  —  blessing  their  Original  :  Have  I  this  right  ?  " 
"  While  I  am  sympathizing  in  the  government  of  God 
over  the  world,  perhaps  I  lose  nearer  views.  Well,  I 
learned  his  existence  a  priori.  No  object  of  science  or 
observation  ever  was  pointed  out  to  me  by  my  poor 
aunt,  but  His  Being  and  commands  ;  and  oh  how  much 
I  trusted  Him  with  every  event  till  I  learned  the  or 
der  of  human  events  from  the  pressure  of  wants." 

"  What  a  timid,  ungrateful  creature  !  Fear  the  deep 
est  pit-falls  of  age,  when  pressing  on,  in  imagination  at 
least,  to  Him  with  whom  a  day  is  a  thousand  years,  — 
with  whom  all  miseries  and  irregularities  are  conform 
ing  to  universal  good  !  Shame  on  me  who  have  learned 
within  three  years  to  sit  whole  days  in  peace  and  en 
joyment  without  the  least  apparent  benefit  to  any,  or 
knowledge  to  myself  ;  —  resigned,  too,  to  the  memory 


MARY   MOODY   EMERSON.  333 

of  long  years  of  slavery  passed  in  labor  and  ignorance, 
to  the  loss  of  that  character  which  I  once  thought  and 
felt  so  sure  of,  without  ever  being  conscious  of  acting 
from  calculation." 

Her  friends  used  to  say  to  her,  "  I  wish  you  joy  of 
the  worm."  And  when  at  last  her  release  arrived,  the 
event  of  her  death  had  really  such  a  comic  tinge  in  the 
eyes  of  every  one  who  knew  her,  that  her  friends  feared 
they  might,  at  her  funeral,  not  dare  to  look  at  each 
other,  lest  they  should  forget  the  serious  proprieties  of 
the  hour. 

She  gave  high  counsels.  It  was  the  privilege  of  cer 
tain  boys  to  have  this  immeasurably  high  standard  in 
dicated  to  their  childhood  ;  a  blessing  which  nothing 
else  in  education  could  supply.  It  is  frivolous  to  ask, 
—  "  And  was  she  ever  a  Christian  in  practice  ?  "  Cas 
sandra  uttered,  to  a  frivolous,  skeptical  time,  the  ar 
cana  of  the  Gods  :  but  it  is  easy  to  believe  that  Cassan 
dra  domesticated  in  a  lady's  house  would  have  proved 
a  troublesome  boarder.  Is  it  the  less  desirable  to  have 
the  lofty  abstractions  because  the  abstractionist  is  nerv 
ous  and  irritable  ?  Shall  we  not  keep  Flamsteed  and 
Herschel  in  the  observatory,  though  it  should  even  be 
proved  that  they  neglected  to  rectify  their  own  kitchen 
clock  ?  It  is  essential  to  the  safety  of  every  mackerel 
fisher  that  latitudes  and  longitudes  should  be  astronom 
ically  ascertained  ;  and  so  every  banker,  shopkeeper  and 
wood-sawyer  has  a  stake  in  the  elevation  of  the  moral 
code  by  saint  and  prophet.  Very  rightly,  then,  the 
Christian  ages,  proceeding  on  a  grand  instinct,  have 
said :  Faith  alone,  Faith  alone. 


SAMUEL   HOAR. 


—  "  Magno  ae  judir:e  quisque  tuetur ; 
Tictrix  causa  Deis  placuit  sed  victa  Catoni.1 


A  YEAR  ago,  how  often  did  we  meet, 

Beneath  these  elms,  once  more  in  sober  bloom, 
Thy  tall,  sad  figure  pacing  down  the  street, 

And  now  tLe  robin  sings  above  thy  tomb ! 
Thy  name  on  otter  shores  may  ne'er  be  known, 

Though  Rome  austere  no  graver  consul  knew, 
But  Massachusetts  her  true  eon  shall  own  ; 

Out  of  her  soil  thy  hardy  virtue  grew. 
She  loves  the  man  that  chose  the  conquered  cause, 

With  upright  soul  that  bowed  to  God  alone ; 
The  clean  hands  that  upheld  her  equal  laws, 

The  old  religion  ne'er  to  be  outgrown ; 
The  cold  demeanor,  the  warm  heart  beneath, 
The  simple  grandeur  of  thy  life  and  death. 

F.  B.  SANBOKH. 
\pril,  1857. 


SAMUEL  HOAR. 

WRITTEN  AT  CONCORD,   4TH  NOV.    [ELECTION   DAY],    1856. 


HERE  is  a  day  on  which  more  public  good  or  evil  is 
to  be  done  than  was  ever  done  on  any  day.  And  this 
is  the  pregnant  season,  when  our  old  Roman,  Samuel 
Hoar,  has  chosen  to  quit  this  world.  Ab  iniquo  certa- 
mine  indignabundus  recessit. 

He  was  born  under  a  Christian  and  humane  star,  full 
of  mansuetude  and  nobleness,  honor  and  charity  ;  and, 
whilst  he  was  willing  to  face  every  disagreeable  duty, 
whilst  he  dared  to  do  all  that  might  beseem  a  man,  his 
self-respect  restrained  him  from  any  foolhardiness.  The 
Homeric  heroes,  when  they  saw  the  gods  mingling  in 
the  fray,  sheathed  their  swords.  So  did  not  he  feel  any 
call  to  make  it  a  contest  of  personal  strength  with  mobs 
or  nations  ;  but  when  he  saw  the  day  and  the  gods  went 
against  him,  he  withdrew,  but  with  an  unaltered  belief. 
All  was  conquered  prceter  atrocem  animum  Catonis. 

At  the  time  when  he  went  to  South  Carolina  as  the 
Commissioner  of  Massachusetts,  in  1844,  whilst  staying 
in  Charleston,  pending  his  correspondence  with  the  gov 
ernor  and  the  legal  officers,  he  was  repeatedly  warned 
that  it  was  not  safe  for  him  to  appear  in  public,  or  to 
take  his  daily  walk,  as  he  had  done,  unattended  by  bis 


388  SAMUEL  HOAR. 

friends,  in  the  streets  of  the  city.  He  was  advised  to 
withdraw  to  private  lodgings,  which  were  eagerly  offered 
him  by  friends.  He  rejected  the  advice,  and  refused 
the  offers,  saying  that  he  was  old,  and  his  life  was  not 
worth  much,  but  he  had  rather  the  boys  should  troll  his 
old  head  like  a  foot-ball  in  their  streets,  than  that  he 
should  hide  it.  And  he  continued  the  uniform  practice 
of  his  daily  walk  into  all  parts  of  the  city.  But  when 
the  mob  of  Charleston  was  assembled  in  the  streets  be 
fore  -his  hotel,  and  a  deputation  of  gentlemen  waited 
upon  him  in  the  hall  to  say  they  had  come  with  the 
unanimous  voice  of  the  State  to  remove  him  by  force, 
and  the  carriage  was  at  the  door,  he  considered  his  duty 
discharged  to  the  last  point  of  possibility.  The  force 
was  apparent  and  irresistible  ;  the  legal  officer's  part 
was  up  ;  it  was  now  time  for  the  military  officer  to  be 
sent ;  and  he  said,  "  Well,  gentlemen,  since  it  is  your 
pleasure  to  use  force,  I  must  go."  But  his  opinion  was 
unchanged. 

In  like  manner  now,  when  the  votes  of  the  Free 
States,  as  shown  in  the  recent  election  in  the  State  of 
Pennsylvania,  had  disappointed  the  hopes  of  mankind 
and  betrayed  the  cause  of  freedom,  he  considered  the 
question  of  justice  and  liberty,  for  his  age,  lost,  and  had 
no  longer  the  will  to  drag  his  days  through  the  dishon 
ors  of  the  long  defeat,  and  promptly  withdrew,  but  with 
unaltered  belief. 

He  was  a,  very  natural,  but  a  very  high  character  ;  a 
'man  of  simple  tastes,  plain  and  true  in  speech,  with 
a  clear  perception  of  justice,  and  a  perfect  obedience 
thereto  in  his  action  ;  of  a  strong  understanding,  precise 
and  methodical,  which  gave  him  great  eminence  in  the 
legal  profession.  It  was  rather  his  reputation  for  severe 


SAMUEL   HOAR.  339 

method  in  his  intellect  than  any  special  direction  in  his 
studies,  that  caused  him  to  be  offered  the  mathematical 
chair  in  Harvard  University,  when  vacant  in  1806.  The 
severity  of  his  logic  might  have  inspired  fear,  had  it  not 
been  restrained  by  his  natural  reverence,  which  made 
him  modest  and  courteous,  though  his  courtesy  had  a 
grave  and  almost  military  air.  He  combined  a  uniform 
self-respect  with  a  natural  reverence  for  every  other 
man  ;  so  that  it  was  perfectly  easy  for  him  to  associate 
with  farmers,  and  with  plain,  uneducated,  poor  men, 
and  he  had  a  strong,  unaffected  interest  in  farms,  and 
crops,  and  weathers,  and  the  common  incidents  of  rural 
life.  It  was  just  as  easy  for  him  to  meet  on  the  same 
floor,  and  with  the  same  plain  courtesy,  men  of  distinc 
tion  and  large  ability.  He  was  fond  of  farms  and  trees, 
fond  of  birds,  and  attentive  to  their  manners  and  habits  ; 
addicted  to  long  and  retired  walks  ;  temperate  to  ascet 
icism,  for  no  lesson  of  his  experience  was  lost  on  him, 
and  his  self-command  was  perfect.  Though  rich,  of  a 
plainness  and  almost  poverty  of  personal  expenditure, 
yet  liberal  of  his  money  to  any  worthy  use,  readily  lend 
ing  it  to  young  men,  and  industrious  men,  and  by  no 
means  eager  to  reclaim  of  them  either  the  interest  or 
the  principal.  He  was  open-handed  to  every  charity, 
and  every  public  claim  that  had  any  show  of  reason  in 
it.  When  I  talked  with  him  one  day  of  some  inequality 
of  taxes  in  the  town,  he  said  it  was  his  practice  to  pay 
whatever  was  demanded  ;  for,  though  he  might  think 
the  taxation  large  and  very  unequally  proportioned,  yet 
he  thought  the  money  might  as  well  go  in  this  way  as 
in  any  other. 

The  strength  and  the  beauty  of  the  man  lay  in  the 
natural  goodness  and  justice  of  his  mind,  which,  in  man- 


340  SAMUEL   HOAR. 

hood  and  in  old  age,  after  dealing  all  his  life  with 
weighty  private  and  public  interests,  left  an  infantile 
innocence,  of  which  we  have  no  second  or  third  example, 
—  the  strength  of  a  chief  united  to  the  modesty  of  a 
child.  He  returned  from  courts  or  congresses  to  sit 
down,  with  unaltered  humility,  in  the  church  or  in  the 
town -house,  on  the  plain  wooden  bench  where  honor 
came  and  sat  down  beside  him. 

He  was  a  man  in  whom  so  rare  a  spirit  of  justice 
visibly  dwelt,  that  if  one  had  met  him  in  a  cabin  or  in 
a  forest  he  must  still  seem  a  public  man,  answering  as 
sovereign  'state  to  sovereign  state  ;  and  might  easily 
suggest  Milton's  picture  of  John  Bradshaw,  that  "he 
was  a  consul  from  whom  the  fasces  did  not  depart  witli 
the  year,  but  in  private  seemed  ever  sitting  in  judgment 
on  kings."  Everybody  knew  where  to  find  him.  What 
he  said,  that  would  he  do.  But  he  disdained  any  arts 
in  his  speech  :  he  was  not  adorned  with  any  graces  of 

rhetoric, 

"  But  simple  truth  his  utmost  skill." 

So  cautious  was  he,  and  tender  of  the  truth,  that  he 
sometimes  wearied  his  audience  with  the  pains  he  took 
to  qualify  and  verify  his  statements,  adding  clause  on 
clause  to  do  justice  to  all  his  conviction.  He  had  little 
or  no  power  of  generalization.  But  a  plain  way  he  had 
of  puttirg  his  statement  with  all  his  might,  and  now  and 
then  borrowing  the  aid  of  a  good  story,  or  a  farmer's 
phrase,  whose  force  had  imprinted  it  on  his  memory, 
and,  by  the  same  token,  his  hearers  were  bound  to  re 
member  his  point. 

The  impression  he  made  on  juries  was  honorable  to 
him  and  them.  For  a  long  term  of  years,  he  was  at 
the  head  of  the  bar  in  Middlesex,  practising,  also,  iu 


SAMUEL   HOAR.  341 

the  adjoining  counties.  He  had  one  side  or  the  other 
of  every  important  case,  and  his  influence  was  reckoned 
despotic,  and  sometimes  complained  of  as  a  bar  to  pub 
lic  justice.  Many  good  stories  are  still  told  of  the  per 
plexity  of  jurors  who  found  the  law  and  the  evidence 
on  one  side,  and  yet  Squire  Hoar  had  said  that  he  be 
lieved,  on  his  conscience,  his  client  entitled  to  a  verdict. 
And  what  Middlesex  jury,  containing  any  God-fearing 
men  in  it,  would  hazard  an  opinion  in  flat  contradiction 
to  what  Squire  Hoar  believed  to  be  just  ?  He  was 
entitled  to  this  respect ;  for  he  discriminated  in  the 
business  that  was  brought  to  him,  and  would  not  argue 
a  rotten  cause  ;  and  he  refused  very  large  sums  offered 
him  to  undertake  the  defence  of  criminal  persons. 

His  character  made  him  the  conscience  of  the  com 
munity  in  which  he  lived.  And  in  many  a  town  it  was 
asked,  "  What  does  Squire  Hoar  think  of  this  ?  "  and 
in  political  crises,  he  was  entreated  to  write  a  few  lines 
to  make  known  to  good  men  in  Chelmsford,  or  Marl- 
borough,  or  Shirley,  what  that  opinion  was.  I  used  to 
feel  that  his  conscience  was  a  kind  of  meter  of  the  de 
gree  of  honesty  in  the  country,  by  which  on  each  occa 
sion  it  was  tried,  and  sometimes  found  wanting.  I  am 
sorry  to  say  he  could  not  be  elected  to  Congress  a  second 
time  from  Middlesex. 

And  in  his  own  town,  if  some  important  end  was  to 
be  gained,  —  as,  for  instance,  when  the  county  commis 
sioners  refused  to  rebuild  the  burned  court-house,  on 
the  belief  that  the  courts  would  be  transferred  from 
Concord  to  Lowell,  —  all  parties  combined  to  send  Mr. 
Hoar  to  the  Legislature,  where  his  presence  and  speech, 
of  course,  secured  the  rebuilding  ;  and,  of  course  also, 
having  answered  our  end,  we  passed  him  by  and  elected 
somebody  else  at  the  next  term. 


342  SAMUEL   HOAR. 

His  head,  with  singular  grace  in  its  lines,  had  a  re 
semblance  to  the  bust  of  Dante.  He  retained  to  the 
last  the  erectness  of  his  tall  but  slender  form,  and  not 
less  the  full  strength  of  his  mind.  Such  was,  in  old  age, 
the  beauty  of  his  person  and  carriage,  as  if  the  mind 
radiated,  and  made  the  same  impression  of  probity  on 
all  beholders.  His  beauty  was  pathetic  and  touching 
in  these  latest  days,  and,  as  now  appears,  it  awakened 
a  certain  tender  fear  in  all  who  saw  him,  that  the  costly 
ornament  of  our  homes  and  halls  and  streets  was 
speedily  to  be  removed.  Yet  how  solitary  he  looked, 
day  by  day  in  the  world,  this  man  so  revered,  this  man 
of  public  life,  of  large  acquaintance  and  wide  family 
connection  !  Was  it  some  reserve  of  constitution,  or 
was  it  only  the  lot  of  excellence,  tha't  with  aims  so  pure 
and  single,  he  seemed  to  pass  out  of  life  alone,  and,  as 
it  were,  unknown  to  those  who  were  his  contemporaries 
and  familiars  ? 


[The  following  sketch  of  Mr.  Hoar  from  a  slightly  different 
point  of  view,  was  prepared  by  Mr.  Emerson,  shortly  after  the 
above  sketch  appeared  in  "  Putnam's  Magazine,"  December, 
1856,  at  the  request  of  the  Editor  of  the  "  Monthly  Religious 
Magazine,"  and  was  printed  there,  January,  1857.  It  is.  here 
appended  as  giving  some  additional  traits  of  a  characteristic 
figure  which  may  serve  as  a  pendant  in  some  respects  to  that  of 
Dr.  Ripley.] 

Mr.  Hoar  was  distinguished  in  his  profession  by  the 
grasp  of  his  mind,  and  by  the  simplicity  of  his  means. 
His  ability  lay  in  the  clear  apprehension  and  the  pow 
erful  statement  of  the  material  points  of  his  case.  He 
soon  possessed  it,  and  he  never  possessed  it  better,  and 
he  was  equally  ready  at  any  moment  to  state  the  facts. 


SAMUEL   HOAR.  343 

He  saw  what  was  essential  and  refuted  whatever  was 
not,  so  that  no  man  embarrassed  himself  less  with  a 
needless  array  of  books  and  evidences  of  contingent 
value. 

These  tactics  of  the  lawyer  were  the  tactics  of  his 
life.  He  had  uniformly  the  air  of  knowing  just  what 
he  wanted  and  of  going  to  that  in  the  shortest  way.  It 
is  singular  that  his  character  should  make  so  deep  an 
impression,  standing  and  working  as  he  did  on  so  com 
mon  a  ground.  He  was  neither  spiritualist  nor  man 
of  genius  nor  of  a  literary  nor  an  executive  talent.  In 
strictness  the  vigor  of  his  understanding  was  directed 
on  the  ordinary  domestic  and  municipal  well-being.  So 
ciety  had  reason  to  cherish  him,  for  he  was  a  main  pil 
lar  on  which  it  leaned.  The  useful  and  practical  super- 
abounded  in  his  mind,  and  to  a  degree  which  might  be 
even  comic  to  young  and  poetical  persons.  If  he  spoke 
of  the  engagement  of  two  lovers,  he  called  it  a  contract. 
Nobody  cared  to  speak  of  thoughts  or  aspirations  to  a 
black-letter  lawyer,  who  only  studied  to  keep  men  out 
of  prison,  and  their  lands  out  of  attachment.  Had  you 
read  Swedeuborg  or  Plotinus  to  him,  he  would  have 
waited  till  you  had  done,  and  answered  you  out  of  the 
Revised  Statutes.  He  had  an  affinity  for  mathematics, 
but  it  was  a  taste  rather  than  a*  pursuit,  and  of  the 
modern  sciences  he  liked  to  read  popular  books  on 
geology.  Yet  so  entirely  was  this  respect  to  the  ground 
plan  and  substructure  of  society  a  natural  ability,  and 
from  the  order  of  his  mind,  and  not  for  "  tickling  com 
modity,"  that  it  was  admirable,  as  every  work  of  nature 
is,  and  like  one  of  those  opaque  crystals,  big  beryls 
weighing  tons,  which  are  found  in  Acworth,  New  Hamp 
shire,  not  less  perfect  in  their  angles  and  structure,  and 


344  SAMUEL   HOAR. 

only  less  beautiful,  than  the  transparent  topazes  and 
diamonds.  Meantime,  whilst  his  talent  and  his  profes 
sion  led  him  to  guard  the  material  wealth  of  society,  a 
more  disinterested  person  did  not  exist.  And  if  there 
were  regions  of  knowledge  not  open  to  him,  he  did  not 
pretend  to  them.  His  modesty  was  sincere.  He  had  a 
childlike  innocence  and  a  native  temperance,  which  left 
him  no  temptations,  and  enabled  him  to  meet  every 
comer  with  a  free  and  disengaged  courtesy  that  had  no 
memory  in  it 

"  Of  wrong  and  outrage  with  which  earth  is  filled." 

No  person  was  more  keenly  alive  to  the  stabs  which  the 
ambition  and  avarice  of  men  inflicted  on  the  common 
wealth.  Yet  when  politicians  or  speculators  approached 
him,  these  memories  left  no  scar  ;  his  countenance  had 
an  unalterable  tranquillity  a,nd  sweetness  ;  he  had  noth 
ing  to  repent  of,  —  let  the  cloud  rest  where  it  might,  he 
dwelt  hi  eternal  sunshine. 

He  had  his  birth  and  breeding  in  a  little  country 
town,  where  the  old  religion  existed  in  strictness,  and 
spent  all  his  energy  in  creating  purity  of  manners  and 
careful  education.  No  art  or  practice  of  the  farm  was 
unknown  to  him,  and  the  farmers  greeted  him  as  one  of 
themselves,  whilst  'they  paid  due  homage  to  his  powers 
of  mind  and  to  his  virtues. 

He  loved  the  dogmas  and  the  simple  usages  of  his 
church  ;  was  always  an  honored  and  sometimes  an  ac 
tive  member.  He  never  shrunk  from  a  disagreeable 
duty.  In  the  time  of  the  Sunday  laws  he  was  a  tithing- 
man  ;  under  the  Maine  Law  he  was  a  prosecutor  of  the 
liquor  dealers.  It  seemed  as  if  the  New  England 
church  had  formed  him  to  be  its  friend  and  defender  ; 


SAMUEL   HOAR.  345 

the  lover  and  assured  friend  of  its  parish  by-laws,  of  its 
ministers,  its  rites  and  its  social  reforms.  He  was  a 
model  of  those  formal  but  reverend  manners  which 
make  what  is  called  a  gentleman  of  the  old  school,  so 
called  under  an  impression  that  the  style  is  passing 
away,  but  which,  I  suppose,  is  an  optical  illusion,  as 
there  are  always  a  few  more  of  the  class  remaining, 
and  always  a  few  young  men  to  whom  these  manners 
are  native. 

I  have  spoken  of  his  modesty  ;  he  had  nothing  to  say 
about  himself  ;  and  his  sincere  admiration  was  com 
manded  by  certain  heroes  of  the  profession,  like  Judge 
Parsons  and  Judge  Marshall,  Mr.  Mason  and  Mr.  Web 
ster.  When  some  one  said,  in  his  presence,  that  Chief 
Justice  Marshall  was  failing  in  his  intellect,  Mr.  Hoar 
remarked  that  "Judge  Marshall  could  afford  to  lose 
brains  enough  to  furnish  three  or  four  common  men, 
before  common  men  would  find  it  out."  He  had  a 
huge  respect  for  Mr.  Webster's  ability,  with  whom  he 
had  often  occasion  to  try  his  strength  at  the  bar,  and  a 
proportionately  deep  regret  at  Mr.  Webster's  political 
course  in  his  later  years. 

There  was  no  elegance  in  his  reading  or  tastes  beyond 
the  crystal  clearness  of  his  mind.  He  had  no  love  of 
poetry  ;  and  I  have  heard  that  the  only  verse  that  he 
was  ever  known  to  quote  was  the  Indian  rule  : 

"  When  the  oaks  are  in  the  gray, 
Then,  farmers,  plant  away." 

But  I  find  an  elegance  in  his  quiet  but  firm  withdrawa* 
from  all  business  in  the  courts  which  he  could  drop 
without  manifest  detriment  to  the  interests  involved 
(and  this  when  in  his  best  strength),  and  his  self-dedi- 


346  SAMUEL  HOAR. 

cation  thenceforward  to  unpaid  services  of  the  Temper 
ance  and  Peace  and  other  philanthropic  societies,  the 
Sunday  Schools,  the  cause  of  Education,  and  specially 
of  the  University,  and  to  such  political  activities  as  a 
strong  sense  of  duty  and  the  love  of  order  and  of  free 
dom  urged  him  to  forward. 

Perfect  in  his  private  life,  the  husband,  father,  friend, 
he  was  severe  only  with  himself.  He  was  as  if  on  terms 
of  honor  with  those  nearest  him,  nor  did  he  think  a  life 
long  familiarity  could  excuse  any  omission  of  courtesy 
from  him.  He  carried  ceremony  finely  to  the  last.  But 
his  heart  was  all  gentleness,  gratitude  and  bounty. 

With  beams  December  planets  dart, 

His  cold  eye  truth  and  conduct  scanned  ; 
July  was  in  his  sunny  heart, 
October  in  his  liberal  hand. 


THOREAU. 


A  QUEEN  rejoices  in  her  peers, 
And  wary  Nature  knows  her  own, 
By  court  and  city,  dale  and  down, 

And  like  a  lover  volunteers, 
And  to  her  son  will  treasures  more, 
And  more  to  purpose,  freely  pour 
In  one  wood  walk,  than  learned  men 
Will  find  with  glass  in  ten  times  ten. 


IT  seemed  as  if  the  breezes  brought  him, 
It  seemed  as  if  the  sparrows  taught  him. 
As  if  by  secret  sign  he  knew 
Where  in  far  fields  the  orchis  grew. 


THOREAU.1 


HENRY  DAVID  THOREAU  was  the  last  male  descend 
ant  of  a  French  ancestor  who  came  to  this  country  from 
the  Isle  of  Guernsey.  His  character  exhibited  occa 
sional  traits  drawn  from  this  blood,  in  singular  combi 
nation  with  a  very  strong  Saxon  genius. 

He  was  born  in  Concord,  Massachusetts,  on  the  12th 
of  July,  1817.  He  was  graduated  at  Harvard  College 
in  1837,  but  without  aay  literary  distinction.  An  icon 
oclast  in  literature,  he  seldom  thanked  colleges  for  their 
service  to  him,  holding  them  in  small  esteem,  whilst  yet 
his  debt  to  them  was  important.  After  leaving,  the 
University,  he  joined  his  brother  in  teaching  a  private 
school,  which  he  soon  renounced.  His  father  was  a 
manufacturer  of  lead-pencils,  and  Henry  applied  him 
self  for  a  time  to  this  craft,  believing  he  could  make  a 
better  pencil  than  was  then  in  use.  After  completing 
his  experiments,  he  exhibited  his  work  to  chemists  and 
artists  in  Boston,  and  having  obtained  their  certificates 
to  its  excellence  and  to  its  equality  with  the  best  Lon 
don  manufacture,  he  returned  home  contented.  His 
friends  congratulated  him  that  he  had  now  opened  his 
way  to  fortune.  But  he  replied,  that  he  should  never 

1  Part  of  this  paper  was  the  Address  delivered  by  Mr.  Emerson  at  the 
funeral  of  Mr.  Thoreau,  in  Miy,  18C2.  In  the  following  summer  it  was 
enlarged  and  printed  in  the  Atlantic  Monthly  in  its  present  form. 


350  THOREAU. 

make  another  pencil.  "  Why  should  I  ?  I  would  not 
do  again  what  I  have  done  once."  He  resumed  his 
endless  walks  and  miscellaneous  studies,  making  every 
day  some  new  acquaintance  with  Nature,  though  as  yet 
never  speaking  of  zoology  or  botany,  since,  though  very 
studious  of  natural  facts,  he  was  incurious  of  technical 
and  textual  science. 

At  this  time,  a  strong,  healthy  youth,  fresh  from  col 
lege,  whilst  all  his  companions  were  choosing  their  pro 
fession,  or  eager  to  begin  some  lucrative  employment, 
it  was  inevitable  that  his  thoughts  should  be  exercised 
on  the  same  question,  and  it  required  rare  decision  to 
refuse  all  the  accustomed  paths  and  keep  his  solitary 
freedom  at  the  cost  of  disappointing  the  natural  expec 
tations  of  his  family  and  friends  :  all  the  more  difficult 
that  he  had  a  perfect  probity,  was  exact  in  securing  his 
own  independence,  and  in  holding  every  man  to  the  like 
duty.  But  Thoreau  never  faltered.  He  was  a  born 
protestant.  He  declined  to  give  up  his  large  ambition 
of  knowledge  and  action  for  any  narrow  craft  or  profes 
sion,  aiming  at  a  much  more  comprehensive  calling,  the 
art  of  living  well.  If  he  slighted  and  defied  the  opin 
ions  of  others,  it  was  only  that  he  was  more  intent  to 
reconcile  his  practice  with  his  own  belief.  Never  idle 
or  self-indulgent,  he  preferred,  when  he  wanted  money, 
earning  it  by  some  piece  of  manual  labor  agreeable  to 
him,  as  building  a  boat  or  a  fence,  planting,  grafting, 
surveying,  or  other  short  work,  to  any  long  engage 
ments.  With  his  hardy  habits  and  few  wants,  his  skill 
in  wood-craft,  and  his  powerful  arithmetic,  he  was  very 
competent  to  live  in  any  part  of  the  world.  It  would 
cost  him  less  time  to  supply  his  wants  than  another.  He 
was  therefore  secure  of  his  leisure. 


THOREAU.  351 

A  natural  skill  for  mensuration,  growing  out  of  his 
mathematical  knowledge  and  his  habit  of  ascertaining 
the  measures  and  distances  of  objects  which  interested 
him,  the  size  of  trees,  the  depth  and  extent  of  ponds 
and  rivers,  the  height  of  mountains,  and  the  air-line  dis 
tance  of  his  favorite  summits,  —  this,  and  his  intimate 
knowledge  of  the  territory  about  Concord,  made  him 
drift  into  the  profession  of  laud-surveyor.  It  had  the 
advantage  for  him  that  it  led  him  continually  into  new 
and  secluded  grounds,  and  helped  his  studies  of  Nature. 
His  accuracy  and  skill  in  this  work  were  readily  appre 
ciated,  and  he  found  all  the  employment  he  wanted. 

He  could  easily  solve  the  problems  of  the  surveyor, 
but  he  was  daily  beset  with  graver  questions,  which  he 
manfully  confronted.  He  interrogated  every  custom, 
and  wished  to  settle  all  his  practice  on  an  ideal  founda 
tion.  He  was  a  protestant  a  outrance,  and  few  lives 
contain  so  many  renunciations.  He  was  bred  to  no  pro 
fession  ;  he  never  married  ;  he  lived  alone  ;  he  never 
went  to  church  ;  he  never  voted  ;  he  refused  to  pay  a 
tax  to  the  State  ;  he  ate  no  flesh,  he  drank  no  wine,  he 
never  knew  the  use  of  tobacco  ;  and,  though  a  natural 
ist,  he  used  neither  trap  nor  gun.  He  chose,  wisely  no 
doubt  for  himself,  to  be  the  bachelor  of  thought  and 
Nature.  He  had  no  talent  for  wealth,  and  knew  how 
to  be  poor  without  the  least  hint  of  squalor  or  inele 
gance.  Perhaps  he  fell  into  his  way  of  living  without 
forecasting  it  much,  but  approved  it  with  later  wisdom. 
"  I  am  often  reminded,"  he  wrote  in  his  journal,  "  that 
if  I  had  bestowed  on  me  the  wealth  of  Croesus,  my  aims 
must  be  still  the  same,  and  my  means  essentially  the 
same."  He  had  no  temptations  to  fight  against,  —  no 
appetites,  no  passions,  no  taste  for  elegant  trifles.  A 


352  THOREAU. 

fine  house,  dress,  the  manners  and  talk  of  highly  culti 
vated  people  were  all  thrown  away  on  him.  He  much 
preferred  a  good  Indian,  and  considered  these  refine 
ments  as  impediments  to  conversation,  wishing  to  meet 
his  companion  on  the  simplest  terms.  He  declined  in 
vitations  to  dinner-parties,  because  there  each  was  in 
every  one's  way,  and  he  could  not  meet  the  individuals 
to  any  purpose.  "  They  make  their  pride,"  he  said,  "  in 
making  their  dinner  cost  much  ;  I  make  my  pride  in 
making  my  dinner  cost  little."  When  asked  at  table 
what  dish  he  preferred,  he  answered,  "  The  nearest." 
He  did  not  like  the  taste  of  wine,  and  never  had  a  vice 
in  his  life.  He  said,  —  "I  have  a  faint  recollection  of 
pleasure  derived  from  smoking  dried  lily-stems,  before 
I  was  a  man.  I  had  commonly  a  supply  of  these.  I 
have  never  smoked  anything  more  noxious." 

He  chose  to  be  rich  by  making  his  wants  few,  and 
supplying  them  himself.  In  his  travels,  he  used  the 
railroad  only  to  get  over  so  much  country  as  was  unim 
portant  to  the  present  purpose,  walking  hundreds  of 
miles,  avoiding  taverns,  buying  a  lodging  in  farmers' 
and  fishermen's  houses,  as  cheaper,  and  more  agreeable 
to  him,  and  because  there  he  could  better  find  the  men 
and  the  information  he  wanted. 

There  was  somewhat  military  in  his  nature,  not  to  be 
subdued,  always  manly  and  able,  but  rarely  tender,  as 
if  he  did  not  feel  himself  except  in  opposition.  He 
wanted  a  fallacy  to  expose,  a  blunder  to  pillory,  I  may 
say  required  a  little  sense  of  victory,  a  roll  of  the  drum, 
to  call  his  powers  into  full  exercise.  It  cost  him  noth 
ing  to  say  No  ;  indeed  he  found  it  much  easier  than  to 
say  Yes.  It  seemed  as  if  his  first  instinct  on  hearing  a 
proposition  was  to  controvert  it,  so  impatient  was  he  of 


THOREAU.  353 

the  limitations  of  our  daily  thought.  This  habit,  of 
course,  is  a  little  chilling  to  the  social  affections  ;  and 
though  the  companion  would  in  the  end  acquit  him  of 
any  malice  or  untruth,  yet  it  mars  conversation.  Hence, 
no  equal  companion  stood  in  affectionate  relations  with 
one  so  pure  and  guileless.  "  I  love  Henry,"  said  one  of 
his  friends,  "  but  I  cannot  like  him  :  and  as  for  taking 
his  arm,  I  should  as  soon  think  of  taking  the  arm  of  an 
elm-tree." 

Yet,  hermit  and  stoic  as  he  was,  he  was  really  fond  of 
sympathy,  and  threw  himself  heartily  and  childlike  into 
the  company  of  young  people  whom  he  loved,  and  whom 
he  delighted  to  entertain,  as  he  only  could,  with  the  va 
ried  and  endless  anecdotes  of  his  experiences  by  field 
and  river :  and  he  was  always  ready  to  lead  a  huckle 
berry-party  or  a  search  for  chestnuts  or  grapes.  Talk 
ing,  one  day,  of  a  public  discourse,  Henry  remarked, 
that  whatever  succeeded  with  the  audience  was  bad.  I 
said,  "Who  would  not  like  to  write  something  which 
all  can  read,  like  Robinson  Crusoe  ?  and  who  does  not 
see  with  regret  that  his  page  is  not  solid  with  a  right 
materialistic  treatment,  which  delights  everybody  ? " 
Henry  objected,  of  course,  and  vaunted  the  better  lec 
tures  which  reached  only  a  few  persons.  But,  at  supper, 
a  young  girl,  understanding  that  he  was  to  lecture  a£ 
the  Lyceum,  sharply  asked  him,  "  Whether  his  lecture 
would  be  a  nice,  interesting  story,  such  as  she  wished  to 
hear,  or  whether  it  was  one  of  those  old  philosophical 
things  that  she  did  not  care  about."  Henry  turned  to 
her,  and  bethought  himself,  and,  I  saw,  was  trying  to 
believe  that  he  had  matter  that  might  fit  her  and  her 
brother,  who  were  to  sit  up  and  go  to  the  lecture,  if  it 
was  a  good  one  for  them. 
23 


354  THOREAU. 

He  was  a  speaker  and  actor  of  the  truth,  born  such, 
and  was  ever  running  into  dramatic  situations  from  this 
cause.  In  any  circumstance  it  interested  all  by-standers 
to  know  what  part  Henry  would  take,  and  what  he 
would  say  ;  and  he  did  not  disappoint  expectation,  but 
used  an  original  judgment  on  each  emergency.  In  1845 
he  built  himself  a  small  framed  house  on  the  shores  of 
Walden  Pond,  and  lived  there  two  years  alone,  a  life  of 
labor  and  study.  This  action  was  quite  native  and  fit 
for  him.  No  one  who  knew  him  would  tax  him  with 
affectation.  He  was  more  unlike  his  neighbors  in  his 
thought  than  in  his  action.  As  soon  as  he  had  exhausted 
the  advantages  of  that  solitude,  he  abandoned  it.  In 
1847,  not  approving  some  uses  to  which  the  public  ex 
penditure  was  applied,  he  refused  to  pay  his  town  tax, 
and  was  put  in  jail.  A  friend  paid  the  tax  for  him,  and 
he  was  released.  The  like  annoyance  was  threatened 
the  next  year.  But,  as  his  friends  paid  the  tax,  not 
withstanding  his  protest,  I  believe  he  ceased  to  resist. 
No  opposition  or  ridicule  had  any  weight  with  him.  He 
coldly  and  fully  stated  his  opinion  of  the  company.  It 
was  of  no  consequence  if  every  one  present  held  the 
opposite  opinion.  On  one  occasion  he  went  to  the  Uni 
versity  Library  to  procure  some  books.  The  librarian 
refused  to  lend  them.  Mr.  Thoreau  repaired  to  the 
President,  who  stated  to  him  the  rules  and  usages,  which 
permitted  the  loan  of  books  to  resident  graduates,  to 
clergymen  who  were  alumni,  and  to  some  others  resi 
dent  within  a  circle  of  ten  miles'  radius  from  the  Col 
lege.  Mr.  Thoreau  explained  to  the  President  that  the 
railroad  had  destroyed  the  old  scale  of  distances, — 
that  the  library  was  useless,  yes,  and  President  and  Col 
lege  useless,  on  the  terms  of  his  rules,  —  that  the  one 


THOREAU.  355 

benefit  he  owed  to  the  College  was  its  library,  —  that, 
at  this  moment,  not  only  his  want  of  books  was  impera 
tive  but  he  wanted  a  large  number  of  books,  and  as 
sured  him  that  he,  Thoreau,  and  not  the  librarian,  was 
the  proper  custodian  of  these.  In  short,  the  President 
found  the  petitioner  so  formidable,  and  the  rules  get 
ting  to  look  so  ridiculous,  that  he  ended  by  giving  him 
a  privilege  which  in  his  hands  proved  unlimited  there 
after. 

No  truer  American  existed  than  Thoreau.  His  pref 
erence  of  his  country  and  condition  was  genuine,  and 
his  aversation  from  English  and  European  manners  and 
tastes  almost  reached  contempt.  He  listened  impa 
tiently  to  news  or  bon-mots  gleaned  from  London  cir 
cles  ;  and  though  he  tried  to  be  civil,  these  anecdotes 
fatigued  him.  The  men  were  all  imitating  each  other, 
and  on  a  small  mould.  Why  can  they  not  live  as  far 
apart  as  possible ,  and  each  be  a  man  by  himself  ?  What 
he  sought  was  the  most  energetic  nature  ;  and  he  wished 
to  go  to  Oregon,  not  to  London.  "In  every  part  of 
Great  Britain,"  he  wrote  in  his  diary,  "  are  discovered 
traces  of  the  Romans,  their  funereal  urns,  their  camps, 
their  roads,  their  dwellings.  But  New  England,  at 
least,  is  not  based  on  any  Roman  ruins.  We  have  not 
to  lay  the  foundations  of  our  houses  on  the  ashes  of  a 
former  civilization." 

But,  idealist  as  he  was,  standing  for  abolition  of  slav 
ery,  abolition  of  tariffs,  almost  for  abolition  of  govern 
ment,  it  is  needless  to  say  he  found  himself  not  only 
unrepresented  in  actual  politics,  but  almost  equally  op 
posed  to  every  class  of  reformers.  Yet  he  paid  the 
tribute  of  his  uniform  respect  to  the  Anti-Slavery  party. 
One  man,  whose  personal  acquaintance  he  had  formed, 


356  THOREAU. 

he  honored  with  exceptional  regard.  Before  the  first 
friendly  word  had  been  spoken  for  Captain  John  Bro-.vn, 
he  sent  notices  to  most  houses  in  Concord  that  he  would 
speak  in  a  public  hall  on  the  condition  and  character  of 
John  Brown,  on  Sunday  evening,  and  invited  all  people 
to  come.  The  Republican  Committee,  the  Abolitionist 
Committee,  sent  him  word  that  it  was  premature  and 
not  advisable.  He  replied,  —  "I  did  not  send  to  you 
for  advice,  but  to  announce  that  I  am  to  speak."  The 
hall  was  filled  at  an  early  hour  by  people  of  all  par 
ties,  and  his  earnest  eulogy  of  the  hero  was  heard  by  all 
respectfully,  by  many  with  a  sympathy  that  surprised 
themselves. 

It  was  said  of  Plotinus  that  he  was  ashamed  of  his 
body,  and  't  is  very  likely  he  had  good  reason  for  it,  — 
that  his  body  was  a  bad  servant,  and  he  had  not  skill 
in  dealing  with  the  material  world,  as  happens  often 
to  men  of  abstract  intellect.  But  Mr.  Thoreau  was 
equipped  with  a  most  adapted  and  serviceable  body. 
He  was  of  short  stature,  firmly  built,  of  light  complex 
ion,  with  strong,  serious  blue  eyes,  and  a  grave  aspect, 
—  his  face  covered  in  the  late  years  with  a  becoming 
beard.  His  senses  were  acute,  his  frame  well-knit  and 
hardy,  his  hands  strong  and  skilful  in  the  use  of  tools. 
And  there  was  a  wonderful  fitness  of  body  and  mind. 
He  could  pace  sixteen  rods  more  accurately  than  an 
other  man  could  measure  them  with  rod  and  chain.  He 
could  find  his  path  in  the  woods  at  night,  he  said,  better 
by  his  feet  than  his  eyes.  He  could  estimate  the  meas 
ure  of  a  tree  very  well  by  his  eye  ;  he  could  estimate 
the  weight  of  a  calf  or  a  pig,  like  a  dealer.  From  a 
box  containing  a  bushel  or  more  of  loose  pencils,  he 
could  take  up  with  his  hands  fast  enough  just  a  dozen 


THOREAU.  357 

pencils  at  every  grasp.  He  was  a  good  swimmer,  run 
ner,  skater,  boatman,  and  would  probably  outwalk  most 
countrymen  in  a  day's  journey.  And  the  relation  of 
body  to  mind  was  still  finer  than  we  have  indicated. 
He  said  he  wanted  every  stride  his  legs  made.  The 
length  of  his  walk  uniformly  made  the  length  of  his 
writing.  If  shut  up  in  the  house  he  did  not  write  at 
all. 

He  had  a  strong  common-sense,  like  that  which  Rose 
Flammock,  the  weaver's  daughter  in  Scott's  romance, 
commends  in  her  father,  as  resembling  a  yardstick, 
which,  whilst  it  measures  dowlas  and  diaper,  can  equally 
well  measure  tapestry  and  cloth  of  gold.  He  had  al 
ways  a  new  resource.  When  I  was  planting  forest 
trees,  and  had  procured  half  a  peck  of  acorns,  he  said 
that  only  a  small  portion  of  them  would  be  sound,  and 
proceeded  to  examine  them  and  select  the  sound  ones. 
But  finding  this  took  time,  he  said,  "  I  think  if  you  put 
them  all  into  water  the  good  ones  will  sink  ; "  which 
experiment  we  tried  with  success.  He  could  plan  a 
garden  or  a  house  or  a  barn  ;  would  have  been  com 
petent  to  lead  a  Pacific  Exploring  Expedition  ;  could 
give  judicious  counsel  in  the  gravest  private  or  public 
affairs. 

He  lived  for  the  day,  not  cumbered  and  mortified  by 
his  memory.  If  he  brought  you  yesterday  a  new  prop 
osition,  he  would  bring  you  to-day  another  not  less  rev 
olutionary.  A  very  industrious  man,  and  setting,  like 
all  highly  organized  men,  a  high  value  on  his  time,  he 
seemed  the  only  man  of  leisure  in  town,  always  ready 
for  any  excursion  that  promised  well,  or  for  conversa 
tion  prolonged  into  late  hours.  His  trenchant  sense 
was  never  stopped  by  his  rules  of  daily  prudence,  but 


358  THOREAU. 

was  always  up  to  the  new  occasion.  He  liked  and  used 
the  simplest  food,  yet,  when  some  one  urged  a  vegeta 
ble  diet,  Thoreau  thought  all  diets  a  very  small  mat 
ter,  saying  that  "  the  man  who  shoots  the  buffalo  lives 
better  than  the  man  who  boards  at  the  Graham  House." 
He  said,  —  "  You  can  sleep  near  the  railroad,  and  never 
be  disturbed  :  Nature  knows  very  well  what  sounds  are 
worth  attending  to,  and  has  made  up  her  mind  not  to 
hear  the  railroad-whistle.  But  things  respect  the  de 
vout  mind,  and  a  mental  ecstasy  was  never  inter 
rupted."  He  noted  what  repeatedly  befell  him,  that, 
after  receiving  from  a  distance  a  rare  plant,  he  would 
presently  find  the  same  in  his  own  haunts.  And  those 
pieces  of  luck  which  happen  only  to  good  players  hap 
pened  to  him.  One  day,  walking  with  a  stranger,  who 
inquired  where  Indian  arrow-heads  could  be  found,  he 
replied,  "  Everywhere,"  and,  stooping  forward,  picked 
one  on  the  instant  from  the  ground.  At  Mount  Wash 
ington,  in  Tuckerman's  Ravine,  Thoreau  had  a  bad  fall, 
and  sprained  his  foot.  As  he  was  in  the  act  of  getting 
np  from  his  fall,  he  saw  for  the  first  time  the  leaves  of 
the  Arnica  mollis. 

His  robust  common  sense,  armed  with  stout  hands, 
keen  perceptions  and  strong  will,  cannot  yet  account 
for  the  superiority  which  shone  in  his  simple  and  hidden 
life.  I  must  add  the  cardinal  fact,  that  there  was  an 
excellent  wisdom  in  him,  proper  to  a  rare  class  of  men, 
which  showed  him  the  material  world  as  a  means  and 
symbol.  This  discovery,  which  sometimes  yields  to 
poets  a  certain  casual  and  interrupted  light,  serving  for 
the  >rnament  of  their  writing,  was  in  him  an  unsleeping 
insight ;  and  whatever  faults  or  obstructions  of  tem 
perament  might  cloud  it,  he  was  not  disobedient  to  the 


THOREAU.  359 

heavenly  vision.  In  his  youth,  he  said,  one  day,  "  The 
other  world  is  all  my  art  ;  my  pencils  will  draw  no 
other  ;  my  jack-knife  will  cut  nothing  else  ;  I  do  not 
use  it  as  a  means."  This  was  the  muse  and  genius 
that  ruled  his  opinions,  conversation,  studies,  work  and 
course  of  life.  This  made  him  a  searching  judge  of 
men.  At  first  glance  he  measured  his  companion,  and, 
though  insensible  to  some  fine  traits  of  culture,  could 
very  well  report  his  weight  and  calibre.  And  this  made 
the  impression  of  genius  which  his  conversation  some 
times  gave. 

He  understood  the  matter  in  hand  at  a  glance,  and 
saw  the  limitations  and  poverty  of  those  he  talked  with, 
so  that  nothing  seemed  concealed  from  such  terrible 
eyes.  I  have  repeatedly  known  young  men  of  sen 
sibility  converted  in  a  moment  to  the  belief  that  this 
was  the  man  they  were  in  search  of,  the  man  of  men, 
who  could  tell  them  all  they  should  do.  His  own  deal 
ing  with  them  was  never  affectionate,  but  superior, 
didactic,  scorning  their  petty  ways,  —  very  slowly  con 
ceding,  or  not  conceding  at  all,  the  promise  of  his  so 
ciety  at  their  houses,  or  even  at  his  own.  "  Would  he 
not  walk  with  them  ?  "  "  He  did  not  know.  There 
was  nothing  so  important  to  him  as  his  walk  ;  he  had 
no  walks  to  throw  away  on  company."  Visits  were 
offered  him  from  respectful  parties,  but  he  declined 
them.  Admiring  friends  offered  to  carry  him  at  their 
own  cost  to  the  Yellowstone  River,  —  to  the  West  In 
dies,  —  to  South  America.  But  though  nothing  could 
be  more  grave  or  considered  than  his  refusals,  they  re 
mind  one,  in  quite  new  relations,  of  that  fop  Brummel's 
reply  to  the  gentleman  who' offered  him  his  carriage  in 
a  shower,  "  But  where  will  you  ride,  then  ?  "  —  and 


360  THOREAU. 

what  accusing  silences,  and  what  searching  and  irresis 
tible  speeches,  battering  down  all  defences,  his  compan 
ions  can  remember  ! 

jf  Mr.  Thoreau  dedicated  his  genius  with  such  entire 
love  to  the  fields,  hills  and  waters  of  his  native  town, 
that  he  made  them  known  and  interesting  to  all  reading 
Americans,  and  to  people  over  the  sea.  The  river  on 
whose  banks  he  was  born  and  died  he  knew  from  its 
springs  to  its  confluence  with  the  Merrimack.  He  had 
made  summer  and  winter  observations  on  it  for  many 
years,  and  at  every  hour  of  the  day  and  night.  The  re 
sult  of  the  recent  survey  of  the  Water  Commissioners 
appointed  by  the  State  of  Massachusetts  he  had  reached 
by  his  private  experiments,  several  years  earlier.  Every 
fact  which  occurs  in  the  bed,  on  the  banks,  or  in  the  air 
over  it ;  the  fishes,  and  their  spawning  and  nests,  their 
manners,  their  food  ;  the  shad-flies  which  fill  the  air  on 
a  certain  evening  once  a  year,  and  which  are  snapped 
at  by  the  fishes  so  ravenously  that  many  of  these  die  of 
repletion  ;  the  conical  heaps  of  small  stones  on  the 
river-shallows,  the  huge  nests  of  small  fishes,  one  of 
which  will  sometimes  overfill  a  cart ;  the  birds  which 
frequent  the  stream,  heron,  duck,  sheldrake,  loon,  os- 
prey  ;  the  snake,  muskrat,  otter,  woodchuck  and  fox,  on 
the  banks  ;  the  turtle,  frog,  hyla  and  cricket,  which 
make  the  banks  vocal,  —  were  all  known  to  him,  and, 
as  it  were,  townsmen  and  fellow-creatures  ;  so  that  he 
felt  an  absurdity  or  violence  in  any  narrative  of  one  of 
these  by  itself  apart,  and  still  more  of  its  dimensions 
on  an  inch-rule,  or  in  the  exhibition  of  its  skeleton,  01 
t-\the  specimen  of  a  squirrel  or  a  bird  in  brandy.  He 
liked  to  speak  of  the  manners  of  the  river,  as  itself  a 
Jawful  creature,  yet  with  exactness,  and  always  to  an 


THOREAU.  361 

observed  fact.  As  he  knew  the  river,  so  the  ponds  in 
this  region. 

One  of  the  weapons  he  used,  more  important  to  him 
than  microscope  or  alcohol-receiver  to  other  investiga 
tors,  was  a  whim  which  grew  on  him  by  indulgence,  yet 
appeared  in  gravest  statement,  namely,  of  extolling  his 
own  town  and  neighborhood  as  the  most  favored  centre 
for  natural  observation.  He  remarked  that  the  Flora 
of  Massachusetts  embraced  almost  all  the  important 
plants  of  America,  —  most  of  the  oaks,  most  of  the  wil 
lows,  the  best  pines,  the  ash,  the  maple,  the  beech,  the 
nuts.  He  returned  Kane's  "  Arctic  Voyage  "  to  a  friend 
of  whom  he  had  borrowed  it,  with  the  remark,  that 
"  Most  of  the  phenomena  noted  might  be  observed  in 
Concord."  He  seemed  a  little  envious  of  the  Pole,  for 
the  coincident  sunrise  and  sunset,  or  five  minutes'  day 
after  six  months  :  a  splendid  fact,  which  Annursuuc  had 
never  afforded  him.  He  found  red  snow  in  one  of  his 
walks,  and  told  me  that  he  expected  to  find  yet  the  Vic 
toria  regia  in  Concord.  He  was  the  attorney  of  the  in 
digenous  plants,  and  owned  to  a  preference  of  the  weeds 
to  the  imported  plants,  as  of  the  Indian  to  the  civilized 
man,  and  noticed,  with  pleasure,  that  the  willow  bean 
poles  of  his  neighbor  had  grown  more  than  his  beans. 
"  See  these  weeds,"  he  said,  "  which  have  been  hoed  at 
by  a  million  farmers  all  spring  and  summer,  and  yet 
have  prevailed,  and  just  now  come  out  triumphant  over 
all  lanes,  pastures,  fields  and  gardens,  such  is  their 
vigor.  We  have  insulted  them  with  low  names,  too,  — 
as  Pigweed,  Wormwood,  Chickweed,  Shad-blossom." 
He  says,  "They  have  brave  names,  too, — Ambrosia, 
Stellaria,  Amelanchier,  Amaranth,  etc." 

I   think  his  fancy  for  referring  everything  to   the 


362  THOREAU. 

meridian  of  Concord  did  not  grow  out  of  any  ignorance 
or  depreciation  of  other  longitudes  or  latitudes,  but  was 
rather  a  playful  expression  of  his  conviction  of  the  in- 
differency  of  all  places,  and  that  the  best  place  for  each 
is  where  he  stands.  He  expressed  it  once  in  this  wise  : 
—  "I  think  nothing  is  to  be  hoped  from  you,  if  this  bit 
of  mould  under  your  feet  is  not  sweeter  to  you  to  eat 
than  any  other  in  this  world,  or  in  any  world." 

The  other  weapon  with  which  he  conquered  all  ob 
stacles  in  science  was  patience.  He  knew  how  to  sit 
immovable,  a  part  of  the  rock  he  rested  on,  until  the 
bird,  the  reptile,  the  fish,  which  had  retired  from  him, 
should  come  back  and  resume  its  habits,  nay,  moved  by 
curiosity,  should  come  to  him  and  watch  him. 

It  was  a  pleasure  and  a  privilege  to  walk  with  him. 
He  knew  the  country  like  a  fox  or  a  bird,  and  passed 
through  it  as  freely  by  paths  of  his  own.  He  knew 
every  track  in  the  snow  or  on  the  ground,  and  what 
creature  had  taken  this  path  before  him.  One  must 
submit  abjectly  to  such  a  guide,  and  the  reward  was 
great.  Under  his  arm  he  carried  an  old  music-book  to 
press  plants  ;  in  his  pocket,  his  diary  and  pencil,  a  spy 
glass  for  birds,  microscope,  jack-knife  and  twine.  (He 
wore  a  straw  hat,  stout  shoes,  strong  gray  trousers,  to 
brave  scrub-oaks  and  smilax,  and  to  climb  a  tree  for  a 
hawk's  or  a  squirrel's  nest.  He  waded  into  the  pool 
for  the  water-plants,  and  his  strong  legs  were  no  insig 
nificant  part  of  his  armor.^  On  the  day  I  speak  of  he 
.  looked  for  the  Menyanthes,  detected  it  across  the  wide 
pool,  and,  on  examination  of  the  florets,  decided  that  it 
had  been  in  flower  five  days.  He  drew  out  of  his 
breast-pocket  his  diary,  and  read  the  names  of  all  the 
plants  that  should  bloom  on  this  day,  whereof  he  kept 


THOREAU.  363 

account  as  a  banker  when  his  notes  fall  due.  The  Cy- 
pripedium  not  due  till  to-morrow.  He  thought  that,  if 
waked  up  from  a  trance,  in  this  swamp,  he  could  tell  ] 
by  the  plants  what  time  of  the  year  it  was  within  two >> 
days.  The  redstart  was  flying  about,  and  presently  the 
fine  grosbeaks,  whose  brilliant  scarlet  "makes  the  rash 
gazer  wipe  his  eye,"  and  whose  fine  clear  note  Thoreau 
compared  to  that  of  a  tanager  which  has  got  rid  of  its 
hoarseness.  Presently  he  heard  a  note  which  he  called 
that  of  the  night-warbler,  a  bird  he  had  never  identified, 
had  been  in  search  of  twelve  years,  which  always,  when 
he  saw  it,  was  in  the  act  of  diving  down  into  a  tree  or 
bush,  and  which  it  was  vain  to  seek  ;  the  only  bird 
which  sings  indifferently  by  night  and  by  day.  I  told 
him  he  must  beware  of  finding  and  booking  it,  lest  life 
should  have  nothing  more  to  show  him.  He  said, 
"  What  you  seek  in  vain  for,  half  your  life,  one  day  you 
come  full  upon,  all  the  family  at  dinner.  You  seek  it 
like  a  dream,  and  as  soon  as  you  find  it  you  become  its 

PreJ-"  v 

His  interest  in  the  flower  or  the  bird  lay  very  deep  in\ 

his  mind,  was  connected  with  Nature,  —  and  the  mean 
ing  of  Nature  was  never  attempted  to  be  defined  by 
him.  He  would  not  offer  a  memoir  of  his  observations 
to  the  Natural  History  Society.  "  Why  should  I  ?  To 
detach  the  description  from  its  connections  in  my  mind 
would  make  it  no  longer  true  or  valuable  to  me  :  and 
they  do  not  wish  what  belongs  to  it."  His  power  of  ob 
servation  seemed  to  indicate  additional  senses.  He  saw 
as  with  microscope,  heard  as  with  ear-trumpet,  and  his 
memory  was  a  photographic  register  of  all  he  saw  and 
heard.  And  yet  none  knew  better  than  he  that  it  is  not 
the  fact  that  imports,  but  the  impression  or  effect  of  the 


364  THOREAU. 

fact  on  your  mind.     Every  fact  lay  in  glory  in  his  mind, 
a  type  of  the  order  and  beauty  of  the  whole. 

His  determination  on  Natural  History  was  organic.  He 
confessed  that  he  sometimes  felt  like  a  hound  or  a  pan 
ther,  and,  if  born  among  Indians,  would  have  been  a  fell 
hunter.  But,  restrained  by  his  Massachusetts  culture, 
he  played  out  the  game  in  this  mild  form  of  botany  and 
ichthyology.  His  intimacy  with  animals  suggested  what 
Thomas  Fuller  records  of  Butler  the  apiologist,  that 
"  either  he  had  told  the  bees  things  or  the  bees  had  told 
him."  Snakes  coiled  round  his  leg ;  the  fishes  swam 
into  his  hand,  and  he  took  them  out  of  the  water  ;  he 
pulled  the  woodchuck  out  of  its  hole  by  the  tail  and 
took  the  foxes  under  his  protection  from  the  hunters. 
Our  naturalist  had  perfect  magnanimity  ;  he  had  no  se 
crets  :  he  would  carry  you  to  the  heron's  haunt,  or  even 
to  his  most  prized  botanical  swamp,  —  possibly  knowing 
that  you  could  never  find  it  again,  yet  willing  to  take 
his  risks. 

No  college  ever  offered  him  a  diploma,  or  a  profes 
sor's  chair  ;  no  academy  made  him  its  corresponding 
secretary,  its  discoverer,  or  even  its  member.  Perhaps 
these  learned  bodies  feared  the  satire  of  his  presence. 
Yet  so  much  knowledge  of  Nature's  secret  and  genius 
few  others  possessed  ;  none  in  a  more  large  and  religious 
synthesis.  For  not  a  particle  of  respect  had  he  to  the 
opinions  of  any  man  or  body  of  men,  but  homage  solely 
to  the  truth  itself  ;  and  as  he  discovered  everywhere 
among  doctors  some  leaning  of  courtesy,  it  discredited 
them.  He  grew  to  be  revered  and  admired  by  his 
townsmen,  who  had  at  first  known  him  only  as  an  oddity. 
The  farmers  who  employed  him  as  a  surveyor  soon  dis 
covered  his  rare  accuracy  and  skill,  his  knowledge  of 


THOREAU.  365 

their  lands,  of  trees,  of  birds,  of  Indian  remains  and  the 
like,  which  enabled  him  to  tell  every  farmer  more  than 
he  knew  before  of  his  own  farm  ;  so  that  he  began  to 
feel  a  little  as  if  Mr.  Thoreau  had  better  rights  in  his 
land  than  he.  They  felt,  too,  the  superiority  of  charac 
ter  which  addressed  all  men  with  a  native  authority. 

Indian  relics  abound  in  Concord,  —  arrow-heads,  stone 
chisels,  pestles,  and  fragments  of  pottery  ;  and  on  the 
river- bank,  large  heaps  of  clam-shells  and  ashes  mark 
spots  which  savages  frequented.  These,  and  every  cir 
cumstance  touching  the  Indian,  were  important  in  his 
eyes.  His  visits  to  Maine  were  chiefly  for  love  of  the 
Indian.  He  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  the  manu 
facture  of  the  bark- canoe,  as  well  as  of  trying  his  hand 
in  its  management  on  the  rapids.  He  was  inquisitive 
about  the  making  of  the  stone  arrow-head,  and  in  his 
last  days  charged  a  youth  setting  out  for  the  Rocky 
Mountains  to  find  an  Indian  who  could  tell  him  that : 
"  It  was  well  worth  a  visit  to  California  to  learn  it."  Oc 
casionally,  a  small  party  of  Penobscot  Indians  would 
visit  Concord,  and  pitch  their  tents  for  a  few  weeks  in 
summer  on  the  river-bank.  He  failed  not  to  make  ac 
quaintance  with  the  best  of  them  ;  though  he  well  knew 
that  asking  questions  of  Indians  is  like  catechizing 
beavers  and  rabbits.  In  his  last  visit  to  Maine  he  had 
great  satisfaction  from  Joseph  Polis,  an  intelligent  In 
dian  of  Oldtown,  who  was  his  guide  for  some  weeks. 

He  was  equally  interested  in  every  natural  fact.    The  \ 
depth  of  his  perception  found  likeness  of  law  through-     ; 
out  Nature,  and  I  know  not  any  genius  who  so  swiftly  J 
inferred  universal  law  from  the  single  fact.     He  was  no 
pedant  of  a  department.     His  eye  was  open  to  beauty, 
and  his  ear  to  music.     He  found  these,  not  in  rare  con- 


866  THOREAU. 

ditions,  but  wheresoever  he  went.  He  thought  the  best 
of  music  was  in  single  strains  ;  and  he  found  poetic  sug 
gestion  in  the  humming  of  the  telegraph-wire. 

His  poetry  might  be  bad  or  good  ;  he  no  doubt  wanted 
a  lyric  facility  and  technical  skill,  but  he  had  the  source 
of  poetry  in  his  spiritual  perception.  He  was  a  good 
reader  and  critic,  and  his  judgment  on  poetry  was  to 
the  ground  of  it.  He  could  not  be  deceived  as  to  the 
presence  or  absence  of  the  poetic  element  in  any  compo 
sition,  and  his  thirst  for  this  made  him  negligent  and 
perhaps  scornful  of  superficial  graces.  He  would  pass 
by  many  delicate  rhythms,  but  he  would  have  detected 
every  live  stanza  or  line  in  a  volume,  and  knew  very 
well  where  to  find  an  equal  charm  in  prose.  He  was  so 
enamored  of  the  spiritual  beauty  that  he  held  all  actual 
written  poems  in  very  light  esteem  in  the  comparison. 
He  admired  ^schylus  and  Pindar  ;  but,  when  some  one 
was  commending  them,  he  said  that  ^Eschylus  and  the 
Greeks,  in  describing  Apollo  and  Orpheus,  had  given  no 
song,  or  no  good  one.  "  They  ought  not  to  have  moved 
trees,  but  to  have  chanted  to  the  gods  such  a  hymn  as 
would  have  sung  all  their  old  ideas  out  of  their  heads, 
and  new  ones  in."  His  own  verses  are  often  rude  and 
defective.  The  gold  does  not  yet  run  pure,  is  drossy 
and  crude.  The  thyme  and  marjoram  are  not  yet 
honey.  But  if  he  want  lyric  fineness  and  technical 
merits,  if  he  have  not  the  poetic  temperament,  he  never 
lacks  the  causal  thought,  showing  that  his  genius  was 
better  than  his  talent.  He  knew  the  worth  of  the  Im 
agination  for  the  uplifting  and  consolation  of  human 
life,  and  liked  to  throw  every  thought  into  a  symbol. 
The  fact  you  tell  is  of  no  value,  but  only  the  impression. 
For  this  reason  his  presence  was  poetic,  always  piqued 


THOREAU.  367 

the  curiosity  to  know  more  deeply  the  secrets  of  his 
mind.  He  had  many  reserves,  an  unwillingness  to  ex 
hibit  to  profane  eyes  what  was  still  sacred  in  his  own, 
and  knew  well  how  to  throw  a  poetic  veil  over  his  ex 
perience.  All  readers  of  "  Walden  "  will  remember  his 
mythical  record  of  his  disappointments  :  — 

"  I  long  ago  lost  a  hound,  a  bay  horse  and  a  turtle 
dove,  and  am  still  on  their  trail.  Many  are  the  travel 
lers  I  have  spoken  concerning  them,  describing  their 
tracks,  and  what  calls  they  answered  to.  I  have  met 
one  or  two  who  have  heard  the  hound,  and  the  tramp 
of  the  horse,  and  even  seen  the  dove  disappear  behind 
a  cloud  ;  and  they  seemed  as  anxious  to  recover  them 
as  if  they  had  lost  them  themselves."  * 

His  riddles  were  worth  the  reading,  and  I  confide 
that  if  at  any  time  I  do  not  understand  the  expression, 
it  is  yet  just.  Such  was  the  wealth  of  his  truth  that  it 
was  not  worth  his  while  to  use  words  in  vain.  His  poem 
entitled  "  Sympathy  "  reveals  the  tenderness,  under  that 
triple  steel  of  stoicism,  and  the  intellectual  subtility  it 
could  animate.  His  classic  poem  on  "  Smoke  "  suggests 
Simonides,  but  is  better  than  any  poem  of  Simonides. 
His  biography  is  in  his  verses.  His  habitual  thought 
makes  all  his  poetry  a  hymn  to  the  Cause  of  causes,  the 
Spirit  which  vivifies  and  controls  his  own  :  — 

"  I  hearing  get,  who  had  but  ears, 
And  sight,  who  had  but  eyes  before  ; 
I  moments  live,  who  lived  but  years, 
And  truth  discern,  who  knew  but  learning's  lore." 

And  still  more  in  these  religious  lines  :  — 

"  Now  chiefly  is  my  natal  hour, 
And  only  now  my  prime  of  life 

»  Walden :  p.  2tt 


368  THOREAU. 

I  will  not  doubt  the  love  untold, 
Which  not  my  worth  or  want  have  bought, 
Which  wooed  me  young,  and  wooes  me  old, 
And  to  this  evening  hath  nie  brought." 

Whilst  he  used  in  his  writings  a  certain  petulance  of 
remark  in  reference  to  churches  or  churchmen,  he  was 
a  person  of  a  rare,  tender  and  absolute  religion,  a  per 
son  incapable  of  any  profanation,  by  act  or  by  thought. 
Of  course,  the  same  isolation  which  belonged  to  his 
original  thinking  and  living  detached  him  from  the 
social  religious  forms.  This  is  neither  to  be  censured 
iior  regretted.  Aristotle  long  ago  explained  it,  when 
he  said,  "  One  who  surpasses  his  fellow-citizens  in  vir 
tue  is  no  longer  a  part  of  the  city.  Their  law  is  not  for 
him,  since  he  is  a  law  to  himself." 

Thoreau  was  sincerity  itself,  and  might  fortify  the 
convictions  of  prophets  in  the  ethical  laws  by  his  holy 
living.  It  was  an  affirmative  experience  which  refused 
to  be  set  aside.  A  truth-speaker  he,  capable  of  the  most 
deep  and  strict  conversation  ;  a  physician  to  the  wounds 
of  any  soul ;  a  friend,  knowing  not  only  the  secret  of 
friendship,  but  almost  worshipped  by  those  few  persons 
who  resorted  to  him  as  their  confessor  and  prophet,  and 
knew  the  deep  value  of  his  mind  and  great  heart.  He 
thought  that  without  religion  or  devotion  of  some  kind 
nothing  great  was  ever  accomplished  :  and  he  thought 
that  the  bigoted  sectarian  had  better  bear  this  in  mind. 

His  virtues,  of  course,  sometimes  ran  into  extremes. 
It  was  easy  to  trace  to  the  inexorable  demand  on  all 
for  exact  truth  that  austerity  which  made  this  willing 
hermit  more  solitary  even  than  he  wished.  Himself  of 
a  perfect  probity,  he  required  not  less  of  others.  He 
had  a  disgust  at  crime,  and  no  worldly  success  would 


THOREAU.  369 

cover  it.  He  detected  paltering  as  readily  in  dignified 
and  prosperous  persons  as  in  beggars,  and  with  equal 
scorn.  Such  dangerous  frankness  was  in  his  dealing 
that  his  admirers  called  him  "  that  terrible  Thoreau," 
as  if  he  spoke  when  silent,  and  was  still  present  when 
he  had  departed.  I  think  the  severity  of  his  ideal  in 
terfered  to  deprive  him  of  a  healthy  sufficiency  of  hu 
man  society. 

The  habit  of  a  realist  to  find  things  the  reverse  of 
their  appearance  inclined  him  to  put  every  statement  in 
a  paradox.  A  certain  habit  of  antagonism  defaced  his 
earlier  writings,  —  a  trick  of  rhetoric  not  quite  out 
grown  in  his  later,  of  substituting  for  the  obvious  word 
and  thought  its  diametrical  opposite.  He  praised  wild 
mountains  and  winter  forests  for  their  domestic  air,  in 
snow  and  ice  he  would  find  sultriness,  and  commended 
the  wilderness  for  resembling  Rome  and  Paris.  "  It 
was  so  dry,  that  you  might  call  it  wet." 

The  tendency  to  magnify  the  moment,  to  read  all  the 
laws  of  Nature  in  the  one  object  or  one  combination 
under  your  eye,  is  of  course  comic  to  those  who  do  not 
share  the  philosopher's  perception  of  identity.  To  him 
there  was  no  such  thing  as  size.  The  pond  was  a  small 
ocean  ;  the  Atlantic,  a  large  Walden  Pond.  He  re 
ferred  every  minute  fact  to  cosmical  laws.  Though 
he  meant  to  be  just,  he  seemed  haunted  by  a  certain 
chronic  assumption  that  the  science  of  the  day  pre 
tended  completeness,  and  he  had  just  found  out  that  the 
savans  had  neglected  to  discriminate  a  particular  botani 
cal  variety,  had  failed  to  describe  the  seeds  or  count  the 
sepals.  "  That  is  to  say,"  we  replied,  "the  blockheads 
were  not  born  in  Concord  ;  but  who  said  they  were  ? 
It  was  their  unspeakable  misfortune  to  be  born  in  Lon- 
24 


870  THOREAU. 

don,  or  Paris,  or  Rome  ;  but,  poor  fellows,  they  did 
what  they  could,  considering  that  they  never  saw  Bate- 
man's  Pond,  or  Nine-Acre  Corner,  or  Becky  Stow's 
Swamp  ;  besides,  what  were  you  sent  into  the  world 
for,  but  to  add  this  observation  ?  " 

Had  his  genius  been  only  contemplative,  he  had  been 
fitted  to  his  life,  but  with  his  energy  and  practical 
ability  he  seemed  born  for  great  enterprise  and  for 
command  ;  and  I  so  much  regret  the  loss  of  his  rare 
powers  of  action,  that  I  cannot  help  counting  it  a  fault 
in  him  that  he  had  no  ambition.  Wanting  this,  instead 
of  engineering  for  all  America,  he  was  the  captain  of  a 
huckleberry-party.  Pounding  beans  is  good  to  the  end 
of  pounding  empires  one  of  these  days  ;  but  if,  at  the 
end  of  years,  it  is  still  only  beans  ! 

But  these  foibles,  real  or  apparent,  were  fast  vanish 
ing  in  the  incessant  growth  of  a  spirit  so  robust  and 
wise,  and  which  effaced  its  defeats  with  new  triumphs. 
His  study  of  Nature  was  a  perpetual  ornament  to  him, 
and  inspired  his  friends  with  curiosity  to  see  the  world 
through  his  eyes,  and  to  hear  his  adventures.  They 
possessed  every  kind  of  interest. 

He  had  many  elegancies  of  his  own,  whilst  he  scoffed 
at  conventional  elegance.  Thus,  he  could  not  bear  to 
hear  the  sound  of  his  own  steps,  the  grit  of  gravel  ;  and 
therefore  never  willingly  walked  in  the  road,  but  in  the 
grass,  on  mountains  and  in  woods.  His  senses  were 
acute,  and  he  remarked  that  by  night  every  dwelling- 
house  gives  out  bad  air,  like  a  slaughter-house.  He 
liked  the  pure  fragrance  of  melilot.  He  honored  cer 
tain  plants  with  special  regard,  and,  over  all,  the  pond- 
lily,  —  then,  the  gentian,  and  the  Mikania  scandens,  and 
u  life-everlasting,"  and  a  bass  -  tree  which  he  visited 


THOREAU.  371 

every  year  when  it  bloomed,  in  the  middle  of  July. 
He  thought  the  scent  a  more  oracular  inquisition  than 
the  sight,  —  more  oracular  and  trustworthy.  The  scent, 
of  course,  reveals  what  is  concealed  from  the  other 
senses.  By  it  he  detected  earthiness.  He  delighted  in 
echoes,  and  said  they  were  almost  the  only  kind  of 
kindred  voices  that  he  heard.  He  loved  Nature  so 
well,  was  so  happy  in  her  solitude,  that  he  became  very 
jealous  of  cities  and  the  sad  work  which  their  refine 
ments  and  artifices  made  with  man  and  his  dwelling. 
The  axe  was  always  destroying  his  forest*  "  Thank 
God,"  he  said,  "  they  cannot  cut  down  the  clouds  ! " 
"  All  kinds  of  figures  are  drawn  on  the  blue  ground 
with  this  fibrous  white  paint." 

I  subjoin  a  few  sentences  taken  from  his  unpublished 
manuscripts,  not  only  as  records  of  his  thought  and  feel 
ing,  but  for  their  power  of  description  and  literary  ex 
cellence  :  — 

"  Some  circumstantial  evidence  is  ''very  strong,  as 
when  you  find  a  trout  in  the  milk." 

"  The  chub  is  a  soft  fish,  and  tastes  like  boiled  brown 
paper  salted." 

"  The  youth  gets  together  his  materials  to  build  a 
bridge  to  the  moon,  or,  perchance,  a  palace  or  temple 
on  the  earth,  and,  at  length  the  middle-aged  man  con 
cludes  to  build  a  wood-shed  with  them." 

"  The  locust  z-ing." 

"  Devil's-needles  zigzagging  along  the  Nut-Meadow 
brook." 

"  Sugar  is  not  so  sweet  to  the  palate  as  sound  to  the 
healthy  ear." 

"  I  put  on  some  hemlock-boughs,  and  the  rich  salt 
crackling  of  their  leaves  was  like  mustard  to  the  ear, 


372  THOREAU. 

the  crackling  of  uncountable  regiments.  Dead  trees 
love  the  fire." 

"  The  bluebird  carries  the  sky  on  his  back." 

"  The  tanager  flies  through  the  green  foliage  as  if  it 
would  ignite  the  leaves." 

"  If  I  wish  for  a  horse-hair  for  my  compass-sight  I 
must  go  to  the  stable  ;  but  the  hair-bird,  with  her  sharp 
eyes,  goes  to  the  road." 

"  Immortal  water,  alive  even  to  the  superficies." 

"  Fire  is  the  most  tolerable  third  party." 

"  Nature  made  ferns  for  pure  leaves,  to  show  what 
she  could  do  in  that  line." 

"  No  tree  has  so  fair  a  bole  and  so  handsome  an  in 
step  as  the  beech." 

"  How  did  these  beautiful  rainbow-tints  get  into  the 
shell  of  the  fresh-water  clam,  buried  in  the  mud  at  the 
bottom  of  our  dark  river  ?  " 

"  Hard  are  the  times  when  the  infant's  shoes  are 
second-foot." 

"  We  are  strictly  confined  to  our  men  to  whom  we 
give  liberty." 

"  Nothing  is  so  much  to  be  feared  as  fear.  Atheism 
may  comparatively  be  popular  with  God  himself." 

"  Of  what  significance  the  things  you  can  forget  ?  A 
little  thought  is  sexton  to  all  the  world." 

"  How  can  we  expect  a  harvest  of  thought  who  have 
not  had  a  seed-time  of  character  ?  " 

"  Only  he  can  be  trusted  with  gifts  who  can  present 
a  face  of  bronze  to  expectations." 

"  I  ask  to  be  melted.  You  can  6nly  ask  of  the  metals 
that  they  be  tender  to  the  fire  that  melts  them.  To 
nought  else  can  they  be  tender." 

There  is  a  flower  known  to  botanists,  one  of  the  same 


THOREAU.  373 

genus  with  our  summer  plant  called  "  Life-Everlast 
ing,"  a  Gnaphalium  like  that,  which  grows  on  the  most 
inaccessible  cliffs  of  tbe  Tyrolese  mountains,  where  the 
chamois  dare  hardly  venture,  and  which  the  hunter, 
tempted  by  its  beauty,  and  by  his  love  (for  it  is  im 
mensely  valued  by  the  Swiss  maidens)  climbs  the  cliffs 
to  gather,  and  is  sometimes  found  dead  at  the  foot,  with 
the  flower  in  his  hand.  It  is  called  by  botanists  the 
Gnaphalium  leontopodium,  but  by  the  Swiss  Edelweisse, 
which  signifies  Noble  Purity.  Thoreau  seemed  to  me 
living  in  the  hope  to  gather  this  plant,  which  belonged 
to  him  of  right.  The  scale  on  which  his  studies  pro 
ceeded  was  so  large  as  to  require  longevity,  and  we  were 
the  less  prepared  for  his  sudden  disappearance.  I 
country  knows  not  yet,  or  hi  the  least  part,  how  great 
a  son  it  has  lost.  It  seems  an  injury  that  he  should 
leave  in  the  midst  his  broken  task  which  none  else  can 
finish,  a  kiud  of  indignity  to  so  noble  a  soul  that  he 
should  depart  out  of  Nature  before  yet  he  has  been 
really  shown  to  his  peers  for  what  he  is.  But  he,  at 
least,  is  content.  His  soul  was  made  for  the  noblest 
society  ;  he  had  in  a  short  life  exhausted  the  capabili 
ties  of  this  world  ;  wherever  there  is  knowledge,  where-  \ 
ever  there  is  virtue,  wherever  there  is  beauty,  he  will  > 
find  a  home.  f 


CAKLYLE. 


HOLD  with  the  Maker,  not  the  Made. 
Sit  with  the  Cause,  or  grim  or  glad. 


CARLYLE.1 


THOMAS  CARLYLE  is  an  immense  talker,  as  extraor 
dinary  in  his  conversation  as  in  his  writing,  —  I  think 
even  more  so. 

He  is  not  mainly  a  scholar,  like  the  most  of  my  ac 
quaintances,  but  a  practical  Scotchman,  such  as  you 
would  find  in  any  saddler's  or  iron-dealer's  shop,  and 
then  only  accidentally  and  by  a  surprising  addition,  the 
admirable  scholar  and  writer  he  is.  If  you  would  know 
precisely  how  he  talks,  just  suppose  Hugh  Whelan  (the 
gardener)  had  found  leisure  enough  in  addition  to  all 
his  daily  work  to  read  Plato  and  Shakspeare,  Augustine 
and  Calvin,  and,  remaining  Hugh  Whelan  all  the  time, 
should  talk  scornfully  of  all  this  nonsense  of  books  that 
he  had  been  bothered  with,  and  you  shall  have  just 
the  tone  and  talk  and  laughter  of  Carlyle.  I  called 
him  a  trip-hammer  with  "  an  ^Eolian  attachment."  He 
has,  too,  the  strong  religious  tinge  you  sometimes  find 
in  burly  people.  That,  and  all  his  qualities,  have  a 
certain  virulence,  coupled  though  it  be  in  his  case  with 
the  utmost  impatience  of  Christendom  and  Jewdom  and 
all  existing  presentments  of  the  good  old  story.  He 

1  From  a  letter  written  soon  after  Mr.  Emerson's  visit  to  Carlyle  in 
1848.  Read  before  the  Massachusetts  Historical  Society  at  their  meet 
ing  after  the  death  of  Carlyle,  February,  1881.  Published  in  their 
Proceedings,  and  also  in  Scribner's  Magazine,  May,  1881. 


378  CARLYLE. 

talks  like  a  very  unhappy  man,  —  profoundly  solitary, 
displeased  and  hindered  by  all  men  and  things  about 
him,  and,  biding  his  time,  meditating  how  to  undermine 
and  explode  the  whole  world  of  nonsense  which  torments 
him.  He  is  obviously  greatly  respected  by  all  sorts  of 
people,  understands  his  own  value  quite  as  well  as  Web 
ster,  of  whom  his  behavior  sometimes  reminds  me,  and 
can  see  society  on  his  own  terms. 

And,  though  no  mortal  in  America  could  pretend  to 
talk  with  Carlyle,  who  is  also  as  remarkable  in  England 
as  the  Tower  of  London,  yet  neither  would  he  in  any 
manner  satisfy  us  (Americans),  or  begin  to  answer  the 
questions  which  we  ask.  He  is  a  very  national  figure, 
and  would  by  no  means  bear  transplantation.  They 
keep  Carlyle  as  a  sort  of  portable  cathedral-bell,  which 
they  like  to  produce  in  companies  where  he  is  unknown, 
and  set  a-swinging,  to  the  surprise  and  consternation 
of  all  persons,  —  bishops,  courtiers,  scholars,  writers,  — 
and,  as  in  companies  here  (in  England)  no  man  is 
named  or  introduced,  great  is  the  effect  and  great  the 
inquiry.  Forster  of  Rawdon  described  to  me  a  dinner 
at  the  table  d'hote  of  some  provincial  hotel  where  he 
carried  Carlyle,  and  where  an  Irish  canon  had  uttered 
something.  Carlyle  began  to  talk,  first  to  the  waiters, 
and  then  to  the  walls,  and  then,  lastly,  unmistakably  to 
the  priest,  in  a  manner  that  frightened  the  whole  com 
pany. 

Young  men,  especially  those  holding  liberal  opinions, 
press  to  see  him,  but  it  strikes  me  like  being  hot  to  see 
the  mathematical  or  Greek  professor  before  they  have 
got  their  lesson.  It  needs  something  more  than  a  clean 
shirt  and  reading  German  to  visit  him.  He  treats  them 
with  contempt ;  they  profess  freedom  and  he  stands  foi 


CARLYLE.  379 

slavery  ;  they  praise  republics  and  he  likes  the  Russian 
Czar  ;  they  admire  Cobden  and  free  trade  and  he  is  a 
protectionist  in  political  economy  ;  they  will  eat  vegeta 
bles  and  drink  water,  and  he  is  a  Scotchman  who  thinks 
English  national  character  has  a  pure  enthusiasm  for 
beef  and  mutton,  —  describes  with  gusto  the  crowds  of 
people  who  gaze  at  the  sirloins  in  the  dealer's  shop- 
window,  and  even  likes  the  Scotch  night  -  cap  ;  they 
praise  moral  suasion,  he  goes  for  murder,  money,  capital 
punishment, -and  other  pretty  abominations  of  English 
law.  They  wish  freedom  of  the  press,  and  he  thinks 
the  first  thing  he  would  do,  if  he  got  into  Parliament, 
would  be  to  turn  out  the  reporters,  and  stop  all  man 
ner  of  mischievous  speaking  to  Buncombe,  and  wind 
bags.  "  In  the  Long  Parliament,"  he  says,  "  the  only 
great  Parliament,  they  sat  secret  and  silent,  grave  as 
an  ecumenical  council,  and  I  know  not  what  they  would 
have  done  to  anybody  that  had  got  in  there  and  at 
tempted  to  tell  out  of  doors  what  they  did."  They 
go  for  free  institutions,  for  letting  things  alone,  and 
only  giving  opportunity  and  motive  to  every  man  ;  he 
for  a  stringent  government,  that  shows  people  what 
they  must  do,  and  make  them  do  it.  "  Here,"  he  says, 
"  the  Parliament  gathers  up  six  millions  of  pounds  every 
year  to  give  to  the  poor,  and  yet  the  people  starve.  I 
think  if  they  would  give  it  to  me,  to  provide  the  poor 
with  labor,  and  with  authority  to  make  them  work  or 
shoot  them,  —  and  I  to  be  hanged  if  I  did  not  do  it,  — 
I  could  find  them  in  plenty  of  Indian  meal." 

He  throws  himself  readily  on  the  other  side.  If  you 
urge  free  trade,  he  remembers  that  every  laborer  is  a 
monopolist.  The  navigation  laws  of  England  made  its 
commerce.  "  St.  John  was  insulted  by  the  Dutch  ;  he 


380  CARLYLE. 

came  home,  got  the  law  passed  that  foreign  vessels 
should  pay  high  fees,  and  it  cut  the  throat  of  the  Dutch, 
and  made  the  English  trade."  If  you  boast  of  the 
growth  of  the  country,  and  show  him  the  wonderful  re 
sults  of  the  census,  he  finds  nothing  so  depressing  as  the 
sight  of  a  great  mob.  He  saw  once,  as  he  told  me,  three 
or  four  miles  of  human  beings,  and  fancied  that  "  the 
airth  was  some  great  cheese,  and  these  were  mites."  If 
a  tory  takes  heart  at  his  hatred  of  stump-oratory  and 
model  republics,  he  replies,  "Yes,  the  idea  of  a  pig 
headed  soldier  who  will  obey  orders,  and  fire  on  his 
own  father  at  the  command  of  his  officer,  is  a  great 
comfort  to  the  aristocratic  mind."  It  is  not  so  much 
that  Carlyle  cares  for  this  or  that  dogma,  as  that  he. 
likes  genuineness  (the  source  of  all  strength)  in  his 
companions. 

If  a  scholar  goes  into  a  camp  of  lumbermen  or  a  gang 
of  riggers,  those  men  will  quickly  detect  any  fault  of 
character.  Nothing  will  pass  with  them  but  what  is 
real  and  sound.  So  this  man  is  a  hammer  that  crushes 
mediocrity  and  pretension.  He  detects  weakness  on  the 
instant,  and  touches  it.  He  has  a  vivacious,  aggressive 
temperament,  and  unimpressionable.  The  literary,  the 
fashionable,  the  political  man,  each  fresh  from  triumphs 
in  his  own  sphere,  comes  eagerly  to  see  this  man,  whose 
fun  they  have  heartily  enjoyed,  sure  of  a  welcome,  and 
are  struck  with  despair  at  the  first  onset.  His  firm, 
victorious,  scoffing  vituperation  strikes  them  with  chill 
and  hesitation.  His  talk  often  reminds  you  of  what 
was  said  of  Johnson  :  "  If  his  pistol  missed  fire  he 
would  knock  you  down  with  the  butt-end." 

Mere  intellectual  partisanship  wearies  him  ;  he  de 
tects  in  an  instant  if  a  man  stands  for  any  cause  to 


CARLYLE.  381 

which  he  is  not  born  and  organically  committed.  A 
natural  defender  of  anything,  a  lover  who  will  live  and 
die  for  that  which  he  speaks  for,  and  who  does  not  care 
for  him  or  for  anything  but  his  own  business,  he  re 
spects  ;  and  the  nobler  this  object,  of  course,  the  better.  x  - 
He  hates  a  literary  trifler,  and  if,  after  Guizot  had  been 
a  tool  of  Louis  Philippe  for  years,  he  is  now  to  come 
and  write  essays  on  the  character  of  Washington,  on 
"  The  Beautiful,"  and  on  "  Philosophy  of  History,"  he 
thinks  that  nothing. 

Great  is  his  reverence  for  realities,  —  for  all  such\ 
traits  as  spring  from  the  intrinsic  nature  of  the  actor. 
He  humors  this  into  the  idolatry  of  strength.  A  strong 
nature  has  a  charm  for  him,  previous,  it  would  seem,  to 
all  inquiry  whether  the  force  be  divine  or  diabolic.  He 
preaches,  as  by  cannonade,  the  doctrine  that  every  no 
ble  nature  was  made  by  God,  and  contains,  if  savage 
passions,  also  fit  checks  and  grand  impulses,  and,  how 
ever  extravagant,  will  keep  its  orbit  and  return  from 
far. 

Nor  can  that  decorum  which  is  the  idol  of  the  Eng 
lishman,  and  in  attaining  which  the  Englishman  exceeds 
all  nations,  win  from  him  any  obeisance.  He  is  eaten 
up  with  indignation  against  such  as  desire  to  make  a 
fair  show  in  the  flesh. 

Combined  with  this  warfare  on  respectabilities,  and, 
indeed,  pointing  all  bis  satire,  is  the  severity  of  his 
moral  sentiment.  In  proportion  to  the  peals  of  laughter 
amid  which  he  strips  the  plumes  of  a  pretender  and 
shows  the  lean  hypocrisy  to  every  vantage  of  ridicule, 
does  he  worship  whatever  enthusiasm,  fortitude,  love, 
or  other  sign  of  a  good  nature  is  in  a  man. 

There  is  nothing  deeper  in  his  constitution  than  his 


382  CARLYLE. 

humor,  than  the  considerate,  condescending  good-nature 
with  which  he  looks  at  every  object  in  existence,  as  a 
man  might  look  at  a  mouse.  He  feels  that  the  perfec 
tion  of  health  is  sportiveness,  and  will  not  look  grave 
even  at  dulness  or  tragedy. 

His  guiding  genius  is  his  moral  sense,  his  perception 
of  the  sole  importance  of  truth  and  justice  ;  but  that 
is  a  truth  of  character,  not  of  catechisms.  He  says, 
"  There  is  properly  no  religion  in  England.  These  idle 
nobles  at  Tattersall's  —  there  is  no  work  or  word  of 
serious  purpose  in  them  ;  they  have  this  great  lying 
Church  ;  and  life  is  a  humbug."  He  prefers  Cambridge 
to  Oxford,  but  he  thinks  Oxford  and  Cambridge  educa 
tion  indurates  the  young  men,  as  the  Styx  hardened 
Achilles,  so  that  when  they  come  forth  of  them,  they 
say,  "  Now  we  are  proof  ;  we  have  gone  through  all  the 
degrees,  and  are  case-hardened  against  the  veracities  of 
the  Universe  ;  nor  man  nor  God  can  penetrate  us." 

Wellington  he  respects  as  real  and  honest,  and  as 
having  made  up  his  mind,  once  for  all,  that  he  will  not 
have  to  do  with  any  kind  of  a  lie.  Edwin  Chadwick  is 
one  of  his  heroes,  —  who  proposes  to  provide  every 
house  in  London  with  pure  water,  sixty  gallons  to  every 
head,  at  a  penny  a  week  ;  and  in  the  decay  and  down 
fall  of  all  religions,  Carlyle  thinks  that  the  only  relig 
ious  act  which  a  man  nowadays  can  securely  perform  is 
to  wash  himself  well. 

Of  course  the  new  French  revolution  of  1848  was 
the  best  thing  he  had  seen,  and  the  teaching  this  great 
swindler,  Louis  Philippe,  that  there  is  a  God's  justice  in 
the  Universe,  after  all,  was  a  great  satisfaction.  Czar 
Nicholas  was  his  hero  ;  for  in  the  ignominy  of  Europe, 
when  all  thrones  fell  like  card-houses,  and  no  man  was 


CARLYLE.  383 

found  with  conscience  enough  to  fire  a  gun  for  his 
crown,  but  every  one  ran  away  in  a  coucou,  with  his 
head  shaved,  through  the  Barriere  de  Passy,  one  man 
remained  who  believed  he  was  put  there  by  God  Al 
mighty  to  govern  his  empire,  and,  by  the  help  of  God, 
had  resolved  to  stand  there. 

He  was  very  serious  about  the  bad  times  :  he  had 
seen  this  evil  coming,  but  thought  it  would  not  come  in 
his  time.  But  now  't  is  coming,  and  the  only  good  he 
sees  in  it  is  the  visible  appearance  of  the  gods.  He 
thinks  it  the  only  question  for  wise  men,  instead  of  art 
and  fine  fancies  and  poetry  and  such  things,  to  address 
themselves  to  the  problem  of  society.  This  confusion 
is  the  inevitable  end  of  such  falsehoods  and  nonsense  as 
they  have  been  embroiled  with. 

Carlyle  has,  best  of  all  men  in  England,  kept  the 
manly  attitude  in  his  time.  He  has  stood  for  scholars, 
asking  no  scholar  what  he  should  say.  Holding  an 
honored  place  in  the  best  society,  he  has  stood  for  the 
people,  for  the  Chartist,  for  the  pauper,  intrepidly  and 
scornfully  teaching  the  nobles  their  peremptory  duties. 

His  errors  of  opinion  are  as  nothing  in  comparison 
with  this  merit,  in  my  judgment.  This  aplomb  cannot 
be  mimicked  ;  it  is  the  speaking  to  the  heart  of  the 
thing.  And  in  England,  where  the  morgue  of  aristoc 
racy  has  very  slowly  admitted  scholars  into  society,  — 
a  very  few  houses  only  in  the  high  circles  being  ever 
opened  to  them,  —  he  has  carried  himself  erect,  made 
himself  a  power  confessed  by  all  men,  and  taught  schol 
ars  their  lofty  duty.  He  never  feared  the  face  of  man. 


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